


What if I had?

by Killwaii



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depressed Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Draco is depressed, Draco swears, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fuck the epilogue, Harry Potter and the emotional growth, Harry plus Draco, Harry potter is done, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts years, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Beta, Not Epilogue Compliant, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Sex, Slow Burn, eventually, harry is tired, let Harry swear, not beta read we die like men, smut later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2020-10-20 06:37:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20670938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killwaii/pseuds/Killwaii
Summary: Draco knew Azkaban was not an option, not for his crimes.No, Draco knew that when he came out with the dark mark-his choice or not-he knew he had his fate decided.***You know what? That epilogue was crap, and Cursed Child even worse. So lets play the What if? game. What happens when Draco gets help from someone unexpected, unexpected and unwanted, but welcome.





	1. What if

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfic ever was from Harry Potter, nearly 15 years ago. We've come full circle lads.
> 
> I like feedback, so, have attr!

“The Wizengamot degrees that the punishment for Walden Macnair is a life sentence in Azkaban prison.”

"And our final trial for the day…" a pause, the rustle of parchment "Draco Malfoy."

Draco knew this was coming,he knew the wizengamot was holding his trial today, had planned for it, but that didn't stop the flow of ice through his veins, fear and terror warring with dread and the knowledge of complete certainty. 

Draco knew Azkaban was not an option, not for his crimes.

No, Draco knew that when he came out with the dark mark-his choice or not-he knew he had his fate decided. 

This trial was a formality only, the wizards "decent" way of getting rid of him. After all the battle and fear over the past year, it was no wonder the Ministry wanted to sweep it all under the rug and move on.

Draco was just collateral damage. One more death eater who needed to be made an example of.

Draco sighed. The least he could do was face it like a man, the litany of regrets loud in his head as the cage he was in was raised into the full trial. 

He tried to pay attention as they listed off his crimes, many and varied, but he was tired. There was no hope left, there never really had been. That moment in the room of requirement had almost-but, no. Draco shook his head, pale hair greasy against his skull. There was no hope. Defecting hadn’t made it better-no one had believed him anyways. 

“...and given the severity of these crimes, and the young age at which they started, it is clear that the only sufficient recourse for such reprehensible crimes is the Dementor’s Kiss.”

Ah, there it was, as Draco had suspected. The true opinion of the Wizarding elite. Some of these people had known him since infancy, had sat at their table, as he learned how to walk, to talk. To fly.

And here was their real opinion, their true estimation of Draco Malfoy. At least he was worthy of the worst form of punishment. 

That didn’t make him feel any better. A poor consolation prize in this game he’d never chosen.

The room was silent with that proclamation, the witches and wizards that made up the full Wizengamot shuffling papers, their guilt palpable in the still air. Palpable, but not enough to take the risk of standing up for a known Death Eater-an underage one, no less. Draco suspected they felt guilty over the  _ child status _ of several of the crimes, but not enough to ignore the whole  _ Destroyed Hogwarts _ thing. Not that Draco could blame anyone, but that knowledge didn’t lessen the pain that sliced through him.

“As there are no objections, we will set the da-”

“No.” 

A few moments of silence as those gathered comprehended that one, singular word, and then chaos as parchment fell off tables, and the sound of chairs being shoved across the wooden floors.

“-and outrage’

“...wait is that-”

“...who dares to speak out in…”

“ But he’s a  **Death Eater** !”

The words flowed around Draco, pieces that never formed a complete picture, not enough to figure out what was going on.

“ ** _Silence_ ** ”

Those gathered quieted as Shacklebolt stood from his chair, gesturing to a figure behind Draco. 

“I invited him here, because I feel that if anyone has the right to judge these proceedings, its him.”

Draco waited a beat. Two. Then turned his head towards where everyone was looking, eyes trying to find the one person who seemed to not want him worse than dead.

“So, please speak and we will listen. As I said when you were invited to these proceedings-if anyone can judge Mr Malfoy on his actions, it is someone who has known him for years, known him without being swayed by his family, his status. If anyone has the right to choose Draco Malfoy’s fate, it’s Harry Potter.”

Silver eyes met emeralds, before Draco looked away, the eye contact burning him to the core, shame and guilt, mixed with hatred for Harry, for himself. A complex swirl of emotions burning in his gut, making Draco want to choke. 

Potter cleared his throat. “I have known Malfoy for years, in fact, he was one of the first people I met when I found out that I was a wizard. I hadn’t known anything about magic, or Voldemort-” those gathered collectively flinched, Draco included, as Potter said that name, so nonchalant, so  _ bold _ “-or anything, really. He was arrogant and rude, even then. But there was something that fascinated me.”

Draco listened, his own memory of their first meeting filling his mind, different than how Potter recalled it, but that’s just the thing with memory, isn’t it? At the time, Draco had hoped to be friends with Potter, believed that, because of his social standing and status, that Potter couldn’t help  _ but _ be friends with Draco.

He had been wrong, so  _ so _ wrong. 

“I’ve known Malfoy all through our time at Hogwarts, and honestly? I often suspected him of awful things. Sometimes, I was right, others, I wasn’t.” Potter paused, emeralds darting around the room, briefly touching Draco’s, before moving on.

He looked tired, Draco thought. Tired and worn down. 

“There are loads of things that I regret. People I’ve let down, people who’ve been disappointed in me. People I wouldn’t or couldn’t help. One of my regrets is Malfoy.”

Another pause, as the Wizgamot listened to their savior, their boy who lived (again), Draco included. His literal fate depended on Potter, and he still wasn’t hopeful, no, but at least he could find out what the illustrious Harry Potter thought of him.

“You invited me here to consider my judgement on Draco Malfoy.” He looked to Shacklebolt again, who nodded. 

“Then...then there will be no Dementor’s Kiss. Malfoy should be allowed to come back to Hogwarts, if he so wishes, to finish our last year and graduate.”

The room had erupted in shouts, angry and spiteful, but Potter continued, determinedly talking over them.

“-I don’t believe that his actions were necessarily ones he would have chosen on his own. I’m not suggesting Imperious, but…” Potter took a breath in, those green eyes, guarded but bright, met Draco’s own before continuing “...I don’t think Malfoy was given much of a choice in his actions. As much a victim of circumstance as I am. In exchange for his participation in” Potter waved his hand, gesturing about “everything, he should be required to do community service...or something.”

Draco watched as Harry finally wilted, exhausted and drained, and, judging by the look of it, tired of talking over so many voices. Draco didn’t know how to feel, not yet. What Potter had proposed had yet to be accepted by the Wizengamot, but the other words, words that showed a deeper understanding of Draco than he was comfortable with, moved around in his head. Like an echo within his skull, Draco couldn’t escape 

_ “...as much a victim of circumstance as I am…” _

Draco felt visible, in that moment, tendrils of doubt and truth winding their way around his heart, spreading through his body. No one had ever thought Draco incapable of his actions, no one had ever  _ seen _ .

Draco didn’t know how to feel. 

Shacklebolt cleared his throat, the arguing and discussion quieting but not abating. He continued anyways.

“Thank you for the input, Mr Potter.” The din of the room slowly quieted further. This was unprecedented, allowing a non-member to speak on behalf of an accused. But then again, most things that Potter was involved in were unprecedented.

“I agree with your assessment, and propose we follow your suggestion of community service. We will now vote-”

Draco closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see who judged him, didn’t want to see the results. Draco knew what the results would be, even with Potter’s intervention, and didn’t want to see.

“Those in favour of community service” a few moments of near silence “and those against-”

More silence, this time deeper, echoing in the large room, against the stone walls, loud in Draco’s head, the echo beating off his chest.

“I see. Very well.” Shacklebolt cleared his throat, deep voice resonating in the air, electric and full. 

“The Wizengamot decrees that the punishment for Draco Malfoy is 200 hours of community service and a lifetime ban on owning or being in contact with dark magical artifacts. The Wizengamot session is now complete, with a reconvene time of-”

White noise rushed through Draco, his vision blurring, blackening around the edges as his cage was opened. They were talking to him, but he couldn’t hear them, the magical law enforcement that were his escort. Their words were muffled, as if he were underwater. The rest of the room has exploded in noise and movement, but Draco couldn’t concentrate on it.

He didn’t even know where they were leading him. 

Community service? What the hell was that even? Draco didn’t really care, not really. 

He was going to live.

As he was nearing the exit, a familiar face was closing in. Those green emeralds, so like the Slytherin green, were like a beacon in the dark room. Blinding, and bright, and oh so sad.

He was only a meter away, still shorter than Draco, black hair a fluffy mess.

“I don’t need you to save me, Potter.” Draco hissed, furious with himself, and Potter, but grateful that he wasn’t going to become a soulless corpse. He knew he should be thanking Potter, or at least be less of a git, but he didn’t know how to be nice. Not to Potter, at least. 

Emotions flittered through those green eyes, too fast for Draco to see, to analyze. They settled on sad acceptance.

“You never have, Malfoy.” He looked down, the world narrowed down to the two of them, as the rest of the Wizgamot raged and debated. “But I wonder....what if I had?”


	2. An Unexpected Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco goes searching and finds something he didn't mean to.

Going into Year 8 at Hogwarts was not something Draco had ever expected to do. Hogwarts had never had an 8th year before, but, given the events of the past few years, an exception was made.

Because _ of course _ , an exception was made. 

Draco wasn’t mad, per say, but it was an odd experience to be a legal adult going to school. Not that he felt like an adult, of course. But, this wasn’t where he expected to be. He had originally planned-

Well. His original plan didn’t matter. Hadn’t in years, and given the Malfoy status of  _ Death Eater scum _ , he didn’t think that was going to change in the future. 

The trial had been done and over with for 3 weeks, and Draco was still in a state of shock. At first, it was because of how it had all happened so fast-arrest, trial, Potter’s intervention, then,  **bam** , freedom. 

And then...then the public outrage started. Draco had been expecting it, sure, but not to the extent that it had. No, he hadn’t anticipated the sheer amount of vitriol, the rage, and the complete and utter contempt that followed him, that stared him in the face every time he opened the Prophet.

Hadn’t expected it to extend to Harry Potter.

Sure, the Prophet wasn’t as rude to Potter, of course. How could they get away with slagging the savior, after all? But they were sly, casting shade on Potter, doubting his mental faculties after such a harrowing experience. Because  _ how _ could the savior of the wizarding world  _ possibly _ show compassion to the man who killed his mentor?

Not that anyone really knew he hadn’t killed Dumbledore, of course, but that was neither here nor there. 

It hadn’t sat well with Draco, what the media was saying, what they were implying, about Potter. The man had defeated the greatest evil, and literally died to do it, and still couldn’t catch a break. 

It made Draco uncomfortable, a small, cold feeling deep in his gut, the prickles of shame and guilt eating at his gut. 

And now, here he was, heading back to Hogwarts, and he knew it wouldn’t be any better. He would have to see Potter in the halls. See his former friends, now turned on him. Have to be careful, ready for anything…

Draco sighed, as he pushed his luggage into the empty train car. He had arrived early, to avoid any unnecessary attention, and hid away in one of the less crowded areas of the train. He wanted to keep away from...well, everyone, really. He’d have apparaited in, but the new Headmistress had advised against it, something about a united front for all returning 8th years.

Draco wanted to snort. United front? What a joke. He had seen the worst parts of society, both inside the Death Eaters and outside. If anything, Draco was unimpressed with people in general-it didn’t matter what “side” a person was on, assholes were always going to be assholes.

He settled into his seat, book in hand, and prepared for the long train ride. He anticipated some sort of confrontation during the trip, but hoped to be left well enough alone. 

That hope lasted all of 20 minutes into the train ride, the door to his compartment jingled, then slowly started to slide open.

Draco sighed. He had hoped to have a little more time, but, here he was. 

He put down his book, and adopted the look of cool indifference that he had perfected over the years.

Which fell immediately when he recognized black messy hair, and those shockingly green eyes, light greens intermingling with the dark, like new spring leaves in the deepest parts of a forest.

Draco didn’t even have a chance to say anything before the door was shut, Potter leaning against the door, green eyes guarded, impassive as he spoke.

“Good, I was hoping to find you.”

“-wha-”

“I’ve seen the Prophet-” and here Potter rolled his eyes with such vigor that Draco could practically feel it “-which, frankly, is such rubbish. Complete and utter trash. Anyways, I’m glad you still decided to come, after all.”

Draco spent all of 3 seconds, mind blank. “Not much of a choice.”

Potters lip twitched into a half smile. “Well, either way. I’m glad.”

He ran a hand through those already-messy black locks, before meeting Draco’s eyes again. “I, yea. Cool. I guess, see you later then.”

Didn’t even wait for a response before the compartment door slid open again, and Potter was gone in as quick a flurry as he’d arrived. Draco continued to stare at the door, waiting for something, anything, but for naught.

Maybe Potter  _ was _ off his rocker now. Draco shrugged to himself, and picked up his book.

* * *

“-a Death Eater-”

“ Did you hear-”

“The Dementors kiss, can you imagine?”

“I guess Harry Potter-”

“-the dark mark!”

“-why did he have to help that Death Eater scum? I heard-”

Draco ignored it all. All the jeers, the taunts. He didn’t even care about the minor hexes sent his way. He’d lived through worse.

He’d lived through the Dark Lord.

His own House mostly ignored him, and he was grateful for that. It wasn’t a comfortable atmosphere by far, but at least it wasn’t actively hostile. 

The one saving grace was that all 8th years had their own private rooms. Sure, they were still in their House common areas, and shared a common room, but they had their own private rooms with en suite bathrooms. 

And, as the weeks passed, most of the students had moved on from their attacks, becoming bored by the lack of a response, or their class demands had increased.

Draco didn’t care either way.

He’d taken to finding random quiet spots throughout the castle, to read, get ahead in schoolwork, and just be away from it. The noise, the taunts.

The looks.

He wasn’t the only one apparently. On his search for more recreational novels in the library, he’d stumbled near a conversation that still rang in his mind.

“It’s fine, Ron, just let him be!” Grangers voice hissed, quiet in the library.

“But ‘Mione! Harry shouldn’t be off on his own so much, how are we supposed to cheer him up if we can never find him?”

“This may come as a surprise, Ronald, but maybe Harry doesn’t need to be cheered up.”

“-but-”

“He’s been through so much the past few years, we all have. Just let him be for a while.”

Draco turned from his spot, slowly walking away. 

_ “...as much a victim of circumstance as I am.” _

It had been months since the trial, and Draco still heard those words echo across the inside of his skull, painting his brain in a gut wrenching sense of need, of longing, that Draco just didn’t understand. 

That brief meeting on the train was all that Draco had seen of Potter, the only time they had interacted.

Part of him wanted to seek out Potter, apologize, or befriend him, or tell him off for the unsettled feeling in his chest. The other part of Draco wanted to avoid Potter like the plague, keep his own bullshit life to himself. Keep Potter out of it-there were enough rumors and taunts, Draco didn’t want to add any more fuel to that fire. 

Because, as much as the taunts and teasing lessened, they never stopped, not fully. And so he found little pockets of space, where no one else went.Small places, where there was silence, where he could be alone. Given the constant movement of the stairs and hallways, it was challenging, finding these spots, and then finding them  _ again _ in the future.

So Draco kept moving, kept searching. 

Nearly two months into the term, Draco discovered an unused astronomy tower near the northern towers that didn’t move. The staircase was old, small bits of rock crumbling away from the walls, a damp chill permeating the air, despite the still-warm air outside. Magic was palpable in that old stone, but the magic of age and proximity, rather than anything that was specifically done. Draco suspected the staircase was part of the original structure, rather than a newer addition.

The stairs were steep, going up several floors, spiraling up and up. Small lamps lit the way, casting shadows that danced along the walls as he moved past, the small breeze from his movement flickering the small flames. 

Draco’s breath caught in his throat as he rounded the last bend, opening up to an observation area that was wide, with three stone walls, and high ceilings.

Those ceilings were nearly entirely glass, as was the entirety of the North-facing wall, the brilliance of the moon lighting the dark of the early night. The deepness of the forest gave way to the inky blues and blacks of the night sky, dotted with explosions of bright stars, white and red, against all that darkness.

It was breathtakingly beautiful and serene. 

Draco slowly moved towards the windows, the room warmer than the stairs, threadbare rugs muffling the sounds of his footsteps. His eyes were on the stars, engulfed in that milky purple and blue nebulas, galaxies and worlds so far removed from his own.

He reached out a hand towards the glass, wanting to touch, to feel-

“Malfoy.”

-and nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of a voice, quiet and low, even in the near silence of the room.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Draco turned towards the voice, knowing, but full of dread and wonder and that gut wrenching sense of unexplained longing. Heart in his throat, fingers tingling from the endorphin rush.

“Potter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive the shorter chapters in favour of weekly updates >.<
> 
> Want to scream about Drarry with me? Get at me on Twitter @killwaiii


	3. Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not quite enemies, but not yet friends
> 
> ***

Draco stood there for a minute. Two. His mind raced as that adrenaline rush slowly faded, fingers light and tingly. He had no idea what to do. That feeling of being so visible burned within him, uncomfortable, vulnerable.

The seconds ticked by in silence, the weight of each passing slowly increasing, suffocating.

Potter cleared his throat, eyes guarded, as he looked past Draco.

“It’s beautiful.”

Potter’s voice was so low, yet so jarring, Draco had to fight not to jump. The weight of the room had broken, like waves on the sand, violent and messy, but a cool relief.

“-what?” Draco finally said, his voice stupidly cracking, nearly a minute later..

“The stars, the sky.” A pause, as he waved towards the windows. “They’re beautiful.” Potter’s voice was hesitant, unsure. Almost as if questioning.

“I-yea. They are.”

Draco was now at a loss. The scene was beautiful and peaceful-he didn’t want to leave, if he were being honest. 

But.

He was intruding. Not only was he invading the space, he was invading  _ Potter’s _ space, which felt awkward, given their past history. Draco would be the first to acknowledge that he had fucked up, in terms of whatever their acquaintance was. He had screwed up their first meeting and then proceeded to continuously and spectacularly fuck up everything when it came to Potter. He didn’t know how to fix it, hadn’t even thought it was a possibility. Given the past year, he hadn’t even planned on living long enough to pretend to even formulate some way of addressing years worth of complete fuckupery on his part.

But.

He was alive. And had to deal with his failures, deliberate or otherwise. The fact that he hadn’t prepared for this eventuality now stood-or, rather, sat-before him now. He had no plan. None. Very un-Slytherin of him, all things considered, but that was just where Draco found himself. 

Alone, with the Savior, the person he had most wanted to befriend, one of his bitter enemies. And now? Now, he was alone with the person who had saved his life.

Given their last two encounters, Draco wasn’t sure where they stood now. He pushed down that feeling in his gut, that feeling of longing and nostalgia, feelings he didn’t understand. Whatever existential crisis he was about to go through could keep waiting, wait until the end of fucking time, if Draco had his way. Now was not the time.

He should leave, turn around and find somewhere else in the castle. It would be the best course of action, Draco thought, best for them both.

He turned away from the windows, the breathtaking explosion of stars and galaxies and empty blackness, turned towards the entrance, back towards those chipped, broken stairs.

“There’s space here. Y’know” a pause, and Draco could hear Potter run a hand through his hair “if you want.”

Draco stopped, then slowly turned his head towards Potter, seated against a cushion of blankets and pillows, against the wall. He had several snacks and beverages beside him. But, there was space. Lots of it.

Enough for Draco.

“You’re sure? Actually sure?” Draco hadn’t meant for his voice to sound so hollow, so needy. But, Draco hadn’t meant for a lot of things.

He was answered with an easy smile “Yea. I am.”

And that was how Draco found himself seated beside the Savior of the Wizarding World, facing the open expanse of the heavens laid out before him. 

It was...well. It was awkward. The air between them was so silent, but thick and dense, so much unsaid between them. So many years of animosity and distrust. They were both tense, Draco could almost taste it. All the feelings between them, for so many years, bubbling to the surface, filling Draco with shame and guilt and other emotions, less easy to pinpoint, nebulous in their description, in how they made him feel. 

Except, of course, that damn gut feeling of longing. Of melancholic missing. But from what, Draco had no idea.

“It really is fine, you know.”

Potters voice was quiet, even in the thick silence of the room

Draco turned his gaze towards Potter, seated a few feet away, glasses reflecting the blackness of entire universes. He had his head leaning against the stone wall, head tilted towards the windows.

People were not really Draco’s thing, he had come to realize. Not that he disliked everyone of course. But Draco found that he wasn’t particularly good at reading people. They were inexplicable, unstructured. Feelings and moods and insecurities made people a complex thing that were nearly impossible to figure out. He could barely figure himself out most of the time. Trying to understand the complexities, the layers and levels of people and their morals and feelings. The seemingly random decisions for certain types of actions, revolving around feelings so deep, so buried, there was no way to figure out what they were, or where they came from

And, frankly? Draco was tired. He’d taken his turn at this dance, this game of toying with the hearts of people. And so, this time? This time he wasn’t going to dance. He wasn’t here to play

He was going to take Potter at his word, and that would be the end of it.

“So, up here to get away from your fanclub?” he asked. Draco had been curious about Potter, well, since forever, but especially since he’d overheard Weasley and Grangers conversation.

A humorless laugh followed the question.

“Yea, I mean, I guess.” A pause, as Draco watched Potter run a hand through his thick dark hair, which flopped back into place across a pale forehead, locks just grazing those hideous glasses. 

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it all, I mean, I do. I just...it doesn’t…” Another pause “I get tired of it. The praise. The adoration. I just want...to be alone sometimes. Y’know?”

Those green eyes, no longer hidden by the glare of starlight, met Draco’s own, questioning and open. Honest…almost raw, in their openness. 

Draco felt like he’d been punched in the gut, as his breath gasped out of him.

It felt like eons, staring at each other, both of them so open, unguarded, for what was likely the first time in their entire acquaintance. 

But in reality, only seconds passed before Draco responded.

“I guess my being here is basically like being alone.”

“-I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure.”

“I’m serious!” Potter responded, leaning forward, those black locks shifting forward. 

“Being around you is...calming, I guess. You never bought into the hype, always saw through the bullshit, I guess. You aren’t trying to make me into something I’m not.”

“A hero? Oh Potter, but you  _ are _ a hero. Even I believe that. Now, at least.” Draco looked down, his long fingers intertwined, twisting together, nearly glowing in the soft moonlight. The memories of the battle, the smell of fresh blood, and the screams of torture were never far from his mind. The visions danced across his eyes, through his mind, nearly constantly. 

He also vividly recalls the limp, dead limbs of Potter, carried across the battlefield.

“But I also know that you’re a prat. Take that for what you will, I guess.”

Potter chuckled. “Thanks, Malfoy. Appreciate the honesty.”

“Anytime, Potter.”

They both sat back, their gazes going back to the moonlight night, stars bright against the inky sky.

Draco had no idea how long they sat there, both wrapped in their own thoughts and demons. Because Draco knew if anyone had their own set of demons, it was Harry Potter.

He swallowed as he turned his head again, facing the boy beside him.

“I’m heading out. It’s late, and I have an early class.” Draco paused, as he shifted, pulling himself to his feet. Looking down, he could see Potter looking at him, curious but accepting. It felt nice, but foreign. A feeling barely recognized, and fleeting.

Draco moved back towards the stairs, leaving the warmth of the blankets, of the atmosphere. Of the company.

“You’re sure it’s okay I come back here?” voice barely above a whisper, as he forced the words out. 

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” A small smile. “G’night, Malfoy.”

“Night, Potter.”


	4. Second Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blame Nika for the angst. 
> 
> And thank you all for the comments and kudos and all that. Thank you for watering my crops <3

Draco didn’t avoid the astronomy tower, no. He just happened to find empty places in the castle that were closer and easier to get to.

Like his own room.

At least, that’s what he would have told anyone who asked-not that anyone did. He was still persona-non-grata in the Slytherin common room. And, really, all of Hogwarts. 

One would think that after years of being alone in the manor, Draco would be used to the feeling of being alone. He had had a lonely childhood, spoiled sure, but his parents weren’t the most..._ engaged _ parents, and often found himself left to his own devices.

He’d been thrilled, and overwhelmed, when he started at Hogwarts. The noise, the people, the shared rooms, the _ noise _. It was all a lot for him to take in. But he wasn’t lonely, not really. Not at first anyways.

But, then the whole Dark Lord thing. 

And he was alone again.

It was worse now, somehow. The hours spent in his room, as he stared at his ceiling, soul-crushing loneliness overwhelming his very core. Reliving every stupid mistake, every damnable thing he’d said, and done. 

Sometimes, he was numb, and he was thankful for those days. They were always_ always _ better than the days when the feelings of ice, brittle and cracked, ate at his heart, his soul. Shattering against his lungs, pressing into his bones, tearing them to bloody ribbons.

He didn’t want to live through those days, too broken and damaged to sleep, to eat. To paralyzed with bone-aching agony to do anything but lie on his bed, fingers trembling, heart breaking.

Those were the nights when he would dream of blood and screams, faceless bodies of human meat and magic, of fingers clawing his body, pulling him down down _ down _.

Draco was thankful he had his own, soundproof room, thankful he didn’t wake anyone with the sounds of his gasps, his screams, as he clawed at his own skin.

The feeling of those sharp, boney fingers digging into his skin, rending his flesh always fresh in his mind, lingering against his skin.

Draco hated those nights the most. Hated those feelings piercing into him. Hated how tired and gaunt he looked in the morning, when he dragged his limp body out of bed.

Most days were a struggle. Some were just worse than others.

Draco did, of course, go back to the astronomy tower, eventually. The silence, the view. It was too beautiful, calling to Draco, like some sky goddesses siren song. 

And maybe, a tiny voice said, it was also to see Potter. To be a little less alone. To be with someone who, at least a little, understood the sheer horror Draco had lived through.

He couldn’t stop the words in his head, the small little phrase that buried itself inside Draco:

_ “...as much a victim of circumstance as I am…” _

Those words alone were what kept Draco on his path towards the astronomy tower. They may have been said carelessly, empty words to keep Draco from a fate worse than death, but he held onto them like a lifeline. Like some sort of proof that someone, at least **one** person, saw through the mask he wore. The mask that was crumbling around him, the ruined facade of Draco Malfoy.

Draco trudged up the chill staircase, the thin light flickering with his movement. He wasn’t even sure that Potter would be there, but it didn’t matter. Draco needed to just be away from his own room, where thoughts, brittle and biting, pierced his brain. If Potter was there, it would be less lonely, less...empty.

As he rounded the last bend, he heard quiet mumbling in the room, and he slowed. Draco listened closely, but whatever Potter was saying, Draco couldn’t decipher. 

Should he leave? Was Draco interrupting something? He waffled at the door, hesitant and unsure. It didn’t sound like there was anyone else with Potter, and Draco was so desperate to just not be alone that it physically hurt to think about leaving.

So he didn’t.

He was quiet as he rounded the corner, wanting to at least observe before just barging in. The room was just as spectacular as he remembered, the cobalt and purples swirling together in the sky, bright pinpricks of starlight buried in those swirls. The moon was nearly full and bright, lighting the room, and Potter, who was sitting in the mound of blankets, some small black box in his hands. He fiddled with the box, moving pieces this way and that, as he mumbled to it.

Draco had no idea what to make of it.

He crept in, quiet, voice low, trying not to startle the one person who didn’t cringe at his presence. “Evening, Potter.”

Green eyes blinked up owlishly, as he blew messy black hair out of his eyes “Hey, Malfoy. I was wondering when you'd be back.”

A million follow up questions popped into Draco’s head, all too needy, too clingy. Too invasive. 

“What are you doing?” he asked instead, curious over the black box. He peered down, as he moved closer to the blankets, closer to Potter, inspecting the item.

“Oh, I think I finally figured out how to get past the electronics barrier around Hogwarts, I just need to…” Potter mumbled something else, shoving some metal stick into the box “...figure out the stupid electro…” another metal stick, followed by some wire “...magnetic spectrum for the…” More metal items, and, as far as Draco could determine, absolute nonsense.

A few moments of silence as Potter continued to fiddle with the box, and wires and metal spikes.

“I have zero idea of what you just said.”

“-Oh. Right. Not, ah, not really good with the Muggle things.” Potter cleared his throat, looking down at the box, as Draco’s cheeks flamed to life. No. He didn’t know a lot about Muggle things, that was true. But...but…

Draco had nothing. Nothing but the hot flare of shame and guilt that burned his skin. And dropped his heart into his gut.

“So I guess the easiest way to explain…hmmm…”

Draco watched, face still flushed, as Potter seemed to consider his words, pulling his lip between his teeth, as he thought. It was kind of cute, in a weird, Potter kind of way.

Potter sighed. “Okay. Malfoy...do you like music?”

“I-yes. I do. Quite a lot, actually.” Draco responded, surprised at the question.

Potter smiled, eyes bright “Me too.” he pointed down to the black box “This is a Muggle music player, which, when I get the thing working, will let us listen to music up here.”

“That...would actually be brilliant.” And Draco meant it. He genuinely enjoyed music, of almost any variety. 

“Yea, I mean, it’ll only be Muggle music still, but-”

“I actually like a lot of Muggle music.” Draco interrupted. At Potter’s shocked expression, eyebrows so far up, they were hidden by all that black hair, Draco continued. “That Sinatra fellow is quite good.”

“You do realize Frank SInatra’s old, right? Dead in his grave, kind of old.”

“I-no. Shut up. Still good.”

“You aren’t wrong.” Potter huffed, smiling as he fiddled with the box again. “It’s called a stereo, by the way. This thing.”

“I see.”

Draco watched as Potter continued to move the metal pieces this way and that, brows furrowed in concentration, lip trapped between teeth, worried and bitten.

“You can stay a while, you know.” Potter said, without looking up, tilting his head towards the space beside him, covered with thick blankets and pillows.

Draco didn’t respond, face flushed, _ again _ , as he sat down, back against the wall. Close, but not _ too _ close, to where Potter was seated, crouched over his contraption. 

Draco sighed in pleasure as he stared out the window, the great expanse of brilliant colours, swirling in pinpricks of light, opened in front of him. A calm he didn’t feel in his own room filled him as the seconds melted into minutes, and probably hours. Draco had no sense of time as that calm stillness filled him, different from the aching numbness he was used to. It was refreshing to feel something that didn’t hurt. Feel still, fingers blessedly still and unmoving.

He didn’t want to leave. 

“I’m going to head out... will I see you tomorrow?” Potter’s voice was low, tired, as he stretched his back, probably sore from being hunched over for so long.

“I-yea. Okay. yea.”

“Brilliant.” Potter said, getting to his feet. “See you tomorrow, then. G’night.”

“Good night, Potter.” 

Draco left soon after, the calmness still deep in his core, in his bones.

It was the first night in months Draco slept through the night.


	5. An Eventuality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco knew it was coming. He really did.

Draco visited the tower more frequently after that.

Potter wasn’t there all of the time, no. Draco found himself there alone as often as he found himself sitting with the other boy. Draco preferred the days when they were both there, the presence of the other becoming familiar, even if things were still uncomfortable. Not that Potter  _ tried _ to make it weird, of course. Nor did Draco.

It was just years and years of mutual distrust, borderline hatred, and, frankly, weird obsession on both ends. It was something they never spoke about, but Draco had the distinct impression that he was not the only one who had realized these things, acknowledged these simple facts.

Seven years were hard to erase, hard to ignore.

Even on those days and they were both there, they didn’t always talk. Some days, Draco felt incapable of functioning beyond staring at the stars. Actual conversation with thought and consideration were completely out of the question. But, Potter seemed to be the same. Sometimes there was an air of depressive contemplation that surrounded the other boy, a feeling Draco knew too well. On those days, he wouldn’t initiate any conversation, and they sat in companionable silence, hopeful his presence was at least mildly comforting.

When they did speak, it was about classes, or news, or other inane topics. Draco waited for Potter to ask about the dark lord, or the mark, or literally anything related to their shared past. But he never did. And Draco didn’t ask about the past year of being in a war, how it felt to save the entire wizarding world. Or what it felt like to die.

He was curious, of course. But, it was better to leave it alone. Let those demons rest. Leave those wounds, let them scab over, and begin to heal.

It was a good system. Talk about normal things. Avoid the giant pink hippogriffs that littered the room. Keep it civil between them. Keep Draco from ruining everything with the only person he actually spent any time with.

It was a good system, but Draco couldn’t help but feel that that system was keeping them from really talking. Really healing. Really becoming friends, which was a thing that Draco found himself wanting. Craving. He wasn’t sure if it was even a remote possibility, becoming friends with the great Harry Potter, but that longing was so deep.

In the deep dark of the night, alone with his thoughts and feelings-so many  _ goddamn _ feelings-Draco could admit he was so lonely, could admit that he longed for Potters friendship, as much as he had when he was a child.

He wanted anyone to talk to, honestly, but for whatever reason, Potter seemed to be the only one around, the only one Draco truly felt drawn towards. For the past 7 years, Potter and his trio had  _ glowed _ with friendship and love and all of those warm fuzzy feelings that Draco craved with his very core. He wanted to be part of that warmth, with friends who understood him, wanted to get to know him-the  **real ** him. He knew it was impossible, knew he was wishing for the impossible.

But he couldn’t stop himself. 

No, Draco was never particularly good at stopping himself. 

He wished he was.

“Did you ever get that...music box working?” Draco asked one night, voice low in the dimly lit room. They were both staring out the frost-encrusted windows, the slow shift of the seasons stripping the leaves from the trees, rustling in the end of autumn winds, barren trunks like fingers reaching for the black sky.

“Ah, no. No yet. I’m going to see if my cousin can send me a piece that I need to make it work.” Potter paused, raking a hand through his black tresses. “Might take a while though, since he won’t use an owl. Doesn’t even know how to…” Potter trailed off, looking lost in thought.

“I guess I could go to London on the next Hogsmead trip…apparate in...but that’s...hmmm”

Draco watched as Potter considered, scratching his chin as his eyes glazed over in thought.

“You know, we’re adults now and you don’t actually have to wait for a school designated Hogsmead trip right? You can go this weekend if you wanted.”

A beat of silence. Then Potter turned his head towards Draco, green eyes intense as he looked Draco in the eye.

“I’m an idiot. I am a complete bloody idiot. Why didn’t I think of that?” A smile lit up his face, and Draco felt a pang in his chest, that feeling of longing, deep and painful.

He ignored it, instead raising in eyebrow as he said “I’m not surprised you didn’t think of it. I am, however, surprised that Granger didn’t.”

“Probably because I didn’t ask her.” The tone, the way he turned his gaze back to the windows, the way his hair flopped over, covering half of Potter’s face all warned Draco to tread carefully.

“I see.” He kept his gaze on Potter, but he didn’t turn back.

* * *

“My cousin sent me some Muggle candy-did you want to try some?”

Another night they were both in the astronomy tower, the clouds dark and stormy, wind blowing through the castle, whistling through the trees. It was becoming more regular, their meetings. Not planned, of course. There were a lot of days Draco was too incapacitated, trembling and anxious, his mind too full of hate and rage and so much regret.

And there were days where Draco suspected the same of Harry. Not that they talked about it, but Draco could see the dark smudges beneath dull, verdant eyes, the lackluster behavior even with his friends. He watched from a distance, avoiding getting too close to Potter in public. 

The Prophet was still shitty, still questioning how great the Great Harry Potter was.

It was garbage, complete nonsense, but Draco didn’t want to make anything worse. 

“I-yea. Okay. What is it?” Draco asked as he was handed a vibrantly wrapped bag.

“Jelly Babies” Potter responded, voice muffled by the candy he’d just eaten.

Draco could only stare, wide eyed, before he snapped his jaw shut.

“Babies? Muggles make candy out of babies? And people think _I’m_ a monster.”

Potter laughed, full and loud, the sound ringing through their room, brightening the room against the gloom outside.

“Not real babies, you prat! It’s candy, all sugar and flavour and stuff. No real babies.”

“Then why call them Jelly Babies? The name insinuates that there are babies in the candy.”

Again, Potter laughed, eyes so bright with joy. “It’s their shape! The shape!”

Draco opened the candy, eyes darting to the other boy as he did so. The sight of Potter grinning, looking happy...it was a sight Draco didn’t see nearly often enough.

He inspected the candy with a snort “They’re hideous.”

“Yea, but they taste good.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, still staring at the small, misshapen candy in his hand. Taking a breath, he picked a few up, and tossed them in his mouth.

“You know, they are pretty good.”

Potter only smirked, green eyes alight as he watched Draco.

* * *

It was bound to happen sooner or later. Honestly, Draco had been so sure, and so ready for so long, that he was actually shocked when it finally did.

Breakfast was in full swing when the dreaded owl, red envelope in talon, swooped in. 

At first, Draco didn’t even notice it, as he was looking down, buttering his toast. He finally looked up as a hush fell over the great hall.

Then he saw it, just as the owl landed in front of him, red envelope already beginning to smoke. The owl chirruped, and took off, clearly aware that there would be no response.

He felt his veins turn to ice, his entire body frozen. It was too late, much too late, for him to grab it and run. Much too late to pretend it was for someone else. Much too late…

It exploded in a brilliant fire, smoke pouring out as a woman’s voice shrieked, echoing against the entire Great Hall:

_ “FILTHY SCUM DEATH EATER. YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN HANGED, YOUR CORPSE LEFT TO ROT IN THE RUINS OF YOUR DISGRACE. YOU DESERVED THE DEMENTOR’S KISS, DESERVED TO HAVE YOUR ROTTEN SOUL SUCKED OUT, YOU EVIL MURDERER.  _

_ I DON’T KNOW WHAT CHARM YOU USED ON HARRY POTTER, FOR HIM TO SAVE YOUR VILE SKIN, BUT I WILL NOT REST UNTIL YOU FACE THE FATE YOU TRULY DESERVED.” _

Draco stared, wide eyed, at where the envelope had been, the shrieking voice echoing against the Great Hall walls, the room otherwise silent.

Someone coughed.

The noise seemed to break the spell, break whatever panic had left Draco motionless, and, before another sound could follow, Draco stood up and, without meeting a single eye, fled from the Great Hall. 


	6. Nothing lasts forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is not doing well. Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably some triggery stuff in here, I think? I dunno, but be careful my friends, and treat yourselves right.

Draco wasn’t hiding. No, he was strategically retreating to the comfort of his room, while simultaneously avoiding literally the entire school. 

So what if it looked like he was hiding?

Okay, so, Draco was definitely hiding. But how could he not? How could he go out and face the masses of people who already hated him? How could he go out there, after some... _ stranger _ had called for his death? How could he face anyone after that spectacle? 

It was hours later, and his face was still flushed, heart still fluttering against his ribs, pounding against the bone, splintering. Breath coming in short gasps, lightheaded and dizzy.

Intellectually, he knew he should visit the hospital wing, get something to help him just...calm down. He knew whatever was going on with his body wasn’t normal, wasn’t healthy. He felt sick. Stomach roiling, head pounding with the rapid beat of his heart. Fingers trembled against the floor, cold, so cold. He knew he wasn’t okay.

But he couldn’t leave. 

Couldn’t move beyond the paralysis that held him down, crushing his body against the floor, where he had collapsed when he finally made it to his room. The weight of what he had done weighed down his body, shivering and cold, as sweat poured down his back. 

No, whatever was happening to Draco was not normal, but whatever this was? He deserved it.

Every bit of searing pain, cracking against his bones, pushing into his lungs, his guts. 

Draco deserved all of it. Deserved to feel the pain, feel the anguish tearing at his soul, ripping the fibers of his very core.

He deserved to feel like this.

* * *

Draco had no idea how long he lay there. Time felt like nothing, body empty, numb, but splintered, the darkness around him burying him within its inky grasp. He could feel the clutches of darkness reaching around his very soul, thin fingers piercing and biting against him, trapping and paralyzing. 

He could have lay there forever, could died on that floor, and no one except his mother would even notice he was gone.

And, maybe, Potter.  _ Maybe _ .

Draco couldn’t think about that though, as he repressed the thoughts, the feelings that flourished when he thought about Potter. Those feelings, warm and fluttery, yet filled with such guilt and shame. Nausea filled Draco as he pushed the thoughts down, compartmentalizing them away for a time that would never come.

“-aco!”

A shrill voice pulled Draco from his thoughts.

“Goddammit Draco, snap out of it! I can see you, you prat!”

Draco pulled himself up to a seated position, shoving a hand through his blond tresses, as he looked towards the fireplace.

“Hey Pans.”

“Draco, what in the nine hells are you doing? You look like absolute garbage, my dear, and I mean that with love. What happened?”

Trust the one and only person to stick around to know something was wrong. Pansy was one of the only people who had reached out, after the whole imprisonment thing. She was still a coward and refused to participate in the 8th year at Hogwarts which, truth be told, given how she’d left the year before, was probably a smart idea. After her departure, and the end of the war, Pansy had contacted Draco several times, even sending a letter to him at the Ministry when he’d been in a cell. She’d apologized profusely about her involvement, or lack thereof, in the final battle and confessed how scared she’d been. She had believed that, whatever side she chose, she would have been killed. Tortured beyond reason, then sent to the slaughter. 

And Draco believed her.

Pansy had always been selfish, fearful of those with power, yet craving that power for herself. She wanted the power to be able to do what she wanted, to be safe, and, almost laughably in a Pureblood society, make her own decisions.

Truthfully, Draco felt for her. He related to her more than he wanted to, the biggest difference being where they stood in the war. Pansy had fled in fear, while Draco turned traitor. 

He still wasn’t sure who he turned on, but he had a feeling it was himself, when he was forced to take the Dark Mark.

Draco  _ also _ pushed those thoughts, and those feelings down. One day, he would deal with all the things he repressed, things since childhood. But, today was not that day. 

Since her apology, and her letters, she often checked up on him. She’d told him that going back to Hogwarts was a mistake, given how much people hated anyone associated with the Death Eaters were. She and her entire family had moved to France, and offered to let Draco come with them.

A nice offer, of course, but one that Draco hadn’t felt was right.

Now though.

Now...well.

“Draco, please, you know you can talk to me.”

He looked into the fire, at Pansy, but found the words hard to get out. He opened his mouth, ready to tell her the whole sordid tale, but nothing came out except-

“-Howler.”

Which was apparently enough for Pansy, who went  _ off _ .

“How dare these ungrateful, sniveling little worms…”

Draco tuned her out, her shrill voice sending shivers down his back, screamed through the throbbing in his head. 

He should be grateful, he knew she was angry on his behalf. Knew that her fury was directed at those who had hurt him, but…

What about the ones that he had hurt? Would she ever get mad for them?

He knew she wouldn’t, she didn’t care too much for those whom she didn’t know, or have ties with. He couldn’t blame her of course.

It was the way she’d been raised, as one of the Elite Pureblood families, as an only child, like he was. Brought up on long outdated values that prioritized blood and magic and allegiance over all else.

Except that, unlike Draco, she hadn’t been sold to the Dark Lord for more power. Hadn’t been forced to attempt to murder one of the most powerful wizards that ever existed, hadn’t seen, firsthand, the blood, the torture-

She didn’t wake up in the middle of the night, his own screams echoing the ones in his dreams, burned into his memory.

“-and the fact that the owls at that school actually allowed that-”

Draco wanted to concentrate on what she was saying, but he couldn’t follow. It had taken all his energy to sit up and face her, and he was so tired.

Not the kind of tired that sleep would help, no. Tired of fighting, tired of existing. A deep weariness deep in his bones, his soul.

“Anyways, Draco, don’t even worry about what those lowlifes think. You’re a good person, and that’s all that matters. Oh, it’s already time for dinner. Floo me when you feel up to it, and please come visit soon, Draco dear. We’d love to have you. ‘Ta!”

And she was gone.

Dinner? Hadn’t it just been breakfast? Had he really been on that floor the entire day?

Of course he had. He knew classes were not going to happen as soon as that howler had shown up, but it was Friday, and the weekend would allow him a reprieve to...somehow fix himself enough to face the school again. Give him enough time to get himself together, fix that mask of indifference he’d had beaten into him. 

But for now, he wanted to go to bed. His stomach growled in complaint, but he ignored it. Draco was exhausted, physically and emotionally. Eating was nice, but that involved leaving him room and Draco could admit he wasn’t strong enough to do that. Not yet. 

And so he would go to bed at whatever the fuck o’clock it was. He didn’t look, didn’t really care. He wanted a dreamless sleep potion and a few days of sleep.

Draco pushed himself off the floor, joints cracking, cold and stiff from the lack of movement, and nearly blacked out as he stood, vision blurring and darkening around the edges of sight. He closed his eyes and steadied himself, taking deep breaths, feeling the blood rushing through his body, heart pumping heavily to catch up, struggling to keep him upright and conscious. 

As the darkness faded around his closed eyes, bright spots of white glowed through, dim at first, brightening as the seconds ticked by. He felt better, more stable, but that glow wasn’t dissipating, wasn’t going away.

Slowly, Draco opened his eyes, and nearly fell over again.

In front of him was a great, white stag, casting a soft light around his dim room. “What in the-”

“Malfoy, please come to the tower. I saw you weren’t at dinner, and...well...I’m worried. _Please_.” Potter’s voice, as soft as the white light glowing in his room, came from the Patronus. 

“We don’t have to talk or ...just...please come.”

As soon as the stag had finished it’s message, it looked Draco dead in the eye, and then turned, leaving the room.

As the darkness of the room settled around Draco, so did the emptiness within him. That stag had been beautiful, a bright light in the darkness of his heart, of his soul. Draco was afraid to chase that light, afraid to go and grab what that light might hold, afraid to see the potential.

What if he reached out, grasped that light, and…

Nothing happened?

What would he do then? 

What if Draco was beyond redemption, beyond forgiveness, beyond whatever hope that the light teased? 

Was he doomed to sorrow and sadness his entire life? Was Draco made to be trapped in his crushing guilt and despair and judgement for whatever remained? Trapped to relive his worst moments in the cage of his bad choices and pain? 

He turned his head towards the door, the light long gone, room dark and cold, _ so cold _ , around him. 

A deep breath in. And out. 

Draco grabbed his cloak and headed towards the door. 


	7. The Unforgiven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco chases after something he's never had.
> 
> And maybe never will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for comments and kudos. They water my crops and keep me writing.
> 
> Yes, more angst. Sorry.

It must have been later than Draco had originally assumed, the common room nearly empty. Those that were there, he avoided their gaze, walking swiftly through the room and out the door.

He couldn’t, wouldn’t allow himself to look, see the judgement, the accusation in their eyes. Wouldn’t allow himself to feel more hurt and beaten and guilty than he already did. Wouldn’t give the other students the satisfaction of seeing him so broken. So _ so _ broken. 

But he needed to go, had to keep moving.

Potter was waiting for him.

That thought came with its own new set of complicated feelings that Draco ignored. He couldn't deal with them, overwhelming and overflowing and new and different, guilt tinged with something he couldn’t place. A mix of butterflies in his stomach that filled him with excitement and dread, but mostly nausea.

But that could also have been the effects of not eating all day, and the cold grip of complete and utter nothingness that surrounded his heart.

It was much too much to unpack. Draco’s brain felt full, overflowing with thoughts and feelings and memories, the sounds of screams and the scent of blood permeating his brain, reaching a crescendo of white pain and noise, beating against his skull.

Words echoing against his brain, in time with his steps. Vibrating through his whole body, through his soul.

_ Death eater. _

_ Scum. _

_ Murderer. _

Draco slowed his steps.

The echo in his skull slowed with his steps, pulsing against his brain, his heart.

_ Death eater. _

_ Scum. _

**Murderer.**

What the fuck was he doing? Why was he practically running towards the one person who had the _ most _ reason to hate him? Why was the Savior of the Wizarding world asking him to come out? Why...

Draco stopped dead.

What the  **fuck** was Potter doing? What game was he playing, trying to see Draco, being friendly? Draco had thought it was just them burying the hatchet, working out their past issues, but....

The first tendril of anger crept up through Draco.

What if there was something deeper to their new...acquaintance? Something more nefarious?

What if Potter was sent to spy on him? Everyone knew Potter wanted to be an Auror. What if this was part of some Auror internship, some program, where his first mission was to see if Draco was truly reformed? To see if it was worth the trouble of letting Draco live? 

Was Potter just using him like...some toy, some practice test to apply for his dream job?

That tendril grew, expanded, growing larger and larger. Flowed from his gut into his chest, his lungs, choking and biting. Anger he knew. Anger and suspicion and complete betrayal. These were feelings he was well-versed in and wore them like a familiar robe.

He’d actually believed Potter was trying to be friends, like a godforsaken idiot. Draco was being used- _ again _ -and he wasn’t going to stand for it. Not today. Not ever..

The familiar sneer filled his face, comforting, a mask to hide the absolute devastation he felt in his stomach, his heart. At least that pain killed the butterflies, completely decimated those uncomfortable feelings into nothingness.

No, these feelings were familiar, almost welcome after the day he’d had. How  _ dare _ Potter use him to get ahead? How fucking dare he treat Draco like a friend, only to be ready to drop him in a hot second when he’d achieved his fucking career goals?

That deep fury he felt, overwhelming, fueled Draco’s steps towards the astronomy tower. 

Single minded determination kept his head high, blowing past the students who stopped and stared at him as he swept through the halls, robes billowing behind him. The other students didn’t matter, not when Draco was riding rage and betrayal and so much  _ pain _ .

Draco could hear his footsteps echoing in the stairs, the candlelight flickering in the breeze he created in the stagnant air, shadows dark and ominous against the walls. He was calm in his anger, in his righteous fury that bubbled against his skin, like a burning poison.

“Oh, thank Merlin you came! I was getting worried you wouldn’t.”

“Were you now?” Draco drawled, sliding further into the room. Fury, cold and bright, burned against his skin as he glanced about the room. Soft blankets and pillows, piled high against the wall, snacks and drinks, and that black box was back. Everything was designed for comfort.

For vulnerability. For lulling Draco into a false sense of security and friendship. 

That rage burned brighter, colder, against his skin, pressing against his insides. 

“I, er, look. I don’t blame you-”

“Oh, you don’t do you?” The venom was piercing, clipped.

A second of silence as Potter blinked, confusion written all over his face. “No? Of course not. What happened wasn’t your-”

“Do you truly believe that Potter? Truly believe that I don’t deserve that hatred, to be called a monster? Because I am, Potter, oh, I am. You should be the first one in line at my hanging, the first one calling for my execution and yet you didn’t.”

_ ...as much a victim of circumstance as I am… _

The words echoed in Draco’s head, quiet but resolute. He ignored them, his hurt feelings bruised and battered.

“er...I...what?…”

“Don’t play dumb, Potter. And don’t fucking treat me like _ I _ am either. I’ve figure out your little game. I may have fallen, yes, but not that fucking far. Not far enough to be so desperate to ignore your games, oh no-”

“Wait, Malfoy-”

“-I’ve been used my entire fucking life, don’t think you’re the first one to try it. But you know what? Not anymore. Not today. You’ve always hated me, did you honestly think I wouldn’t even question this new overture of  _ supposed _ friendship? How daft do you think I am?”

“No, hold on-”

Draco kept speaking, voice slowing raising, body trembling with the rage of a decade finally being let loose.

“I will be the first to admit that I fucked up, when it comes to you. I may be arrogant, but I will admit I was wrong when it came to our first meeting. But, bloody hell, did you follow through with that. Years-bloody  _ years _ -of never being good enough to be one of your illustrious friends. Never enough. Too shy, too proud, too  **fucking** Slytherin. Why would that ever change, Potter? What on earth could have happened to make you think I was worthwhile. Especially now that I have a Dark Mark. Why would your unending hatred and suspicion ever change towards me. 

Unless you had something to gain. I’m not stupid, Potter.”

The room echoed with the silence, Draco breathing heavy at his outburst, a burning sting behind his eyes as he looked at Potter, open mouthed in shock.

Draco’s voice was barely above a whisper, trembling fingers held against his own chest “Am I worth so little that I’m an easy sacrifice for your career as an Auror? Am I really worth...nothing?”

If his voice cracked as he spoke, well, who could blame him?

Draco took a deep breath in, the only sound in the heavy silence, the air weighted, foreboding. Choking, pressing against his lungs. He could feel his body faltering, the last reserves of energy, fueled by rage, were running out. Another deep breath in, as he calmed his heart, willed himself to just...finish this. 

A deep breath out.

“I’ve spent my entire life with people only pretending to care about me, Potter. You aren’t original.” Another deep breath in, he closed his eyes. A deep exhale, he kept his eyes shut. 

“But I am tired. I truly do wish you nothing but the best in your future, Merlin knows you deserve it, but keep me out of it. I’m done with this contrived acquaintance, I’m done being used for everyone else’s gain.”

He had meant to storm out of the tower, robe billowing behind him in a dramatic exit, but Draco was tired. Bone weary exhaustion hitting his body like a stampeding hippogriff. He hoped that Potter would leave, so that he could rest before leaving. Not that he would admit that, of course. 

“-I-.” A deep breath in. “Right okay.” Another pause. “I guess...I don’t want to be an Auror. First off, I guess. I...I’m not using anyone, for anything.”

Another pause, and Draco kept his eyes closed, as he heard Potter moving about the room.

“I get it. I do. I lashed out at the people who cared for me, when I was hurt. It was easier than...facing reality, I reckon. But, to be clear, I do genuinely enjoy your company.”

“When I saw you skipped dinner, I made you a plate. It’s near your usual spot here.” Draco could hear Potter’s voice move away, quiet, as he reached the stairs. 

"I didn’t lie. I  _ was _ worried. About you.”

And then he was gone.

Draco opened his eyes as his body finally gave up, collapsing in a heap on the floor. Sweat dripped down his body, cold against his heated skin, as he shivered against the stone floor.

Now that the fury had vanished, and Draco looked around, he saw a full plate of his favourite foods, and a glass of juice beside his normal spot.

With a choked sob, borne of pain, and hurt, and  _ so much _ regret, Draco lowered his head and finally cried. 


	8. At least 10% of a plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco fucked up. Hard. 
> 
> The question is, how does he fix it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Blame the beginning angst on Nika, again :P 
> 
> FYI-I'm thinking about starting and running a Drarry zine-if you're interested, please fill out the interest check! If not, that's cool too!  
Linky> https://forms.gle/wvzt7GrGYknygCa88

Draco didn't know how long he sat there, tears streaming down his cheeks, a small pool collecting in the divets in the rough stone floor, reflecting the cold moonlight.

It was too much. Everything was much too much. That hollow pit in his stomach, spewing acid and hate, all directed at himself, was eating him alive. Burning and choking, insides coiling in loathing, painful and debilitating. 

How…

Another sob racked through Draco's body, cold, shivering against the floor.

...how could he have  _ possibly _ known?

Slowly, ever so slowly, Draco crawled towards the cushions, the sounds of his movements echoing off the walls of the now-silent room. He couldn't leave the room. He couldn’t. Not yet. The thought of going back to his room filled him with a panic so deep, so thorough, it reminded him of how he felt the first time he saw his Dark Mark, knowing that his fate was sealed. 

Except...

Except that it hadn't been. Not truly. Instead, he had lived through the war-barely-and lived enough to be saved from certain death by Potter.

No, his fate hadn’t been totally sealed. But...

Draco just keep continually and spectacularly fucking every little thing up.

Once he reached the cushions, exhausted and sweaty, he collapsed on his back, sight still blurred from tears, as he just. Existed. 

He had fucked up.

Badly.

His heart constricted painfully in his chest, unable to swallow, barely able to breathe. 

The look on Potter's face as he left, disappointment marring those green eyes, darkening them as he looked at Draco…

If he wasn't already falling apart, that look would have killed him, like a dull knife to the heart. At least, that was what it felt like. Draco was falling apart, ripped and torn to shreds, the very core of his being turned to bloody ribbons. And like the absolute fucking moran that he was, he pushed away the one person who seemed to care. The one person he himself cared about. The person who had gone out of the way…

...wait…

A shiver spread through Draco, settling in his gut.

...did he just...he...cared about Potter?

Another shiver, different, spread through his limp body, heart beating faster, thundering against fragile ribs.

Was…did...did he  _ care _ about Potter? The obvious answer was unequivocally yes. Draco knew this, had known this for far longer than he cared to admit. Even as Potter had snubbed him during First Year, even as he’d almost cast an Unforgivable against the other boy, cut open and shredded as a result...Draco had cared. Wanted the other boys acknowledgement, wanted friendship. 

Wanted something he couldn't name, even if he'd wanted to. 

That feeling of longing, burning deep within him, pulling at his stomach, his ribcage, crept through Dracos body, heart fluttering again, beating against his bruised and battered lungs.

Draco rolled to his side, the cold trail of tears streaming down his temple. 

He’d never really had a...friend before. As much as it pained him to admit it, Draco was self-aware enough to know that what he had had with Crabbe and Goyle wasn’t the same as what he had with Potter. Even his newly personal relationship with Pansy wasn’t the same. Draco didn’t know what it was, what the feelings deep inside his chest were, but it was different with Potter.

A fluttering feeling moved through his insides, chest expanding with heat.

Everything with Potter was different. Why would Draco’s maybe, potentially ruined friendship with him by any different?

But, as Draco inched his fingers towards the food, that fluttering feeling reminding him of how hungry he was, stomach queasy, roiling within him, his sluggish brain had one piercing thought.

How in Salazars name was he going to fix this?

* * *

Draco had never been to the kitchens before. Hell, he barely knew what the kitchens in his own Manor looked like. He knew where they were, of course, but the Manor had always been closed off, choking and suffocating. There hadn't been a lot of...need or desire to explore. Not even to find the kitchens when he was hungry. Not that he ever wanted to go back there, but.

He was surprised how warm and inviting the kitchens were. The ovens kept the area warm and toasty, inviting comfort. The smells were divine, and Draco’s stomach rumbled, eager for whatever was in those ovens.

The House elves too, welcomed Draco, all wearing clothes of various types and colours.

“A student! Are you hungry, master? What can I make you?”

Several squeaky voices repeated the questions, eager to help. To server, to feed.

It was overwhelming, much too much attention, and Draco wanted to leave. But, he had an idea, and it required.well, it required a lot more than Draco was used to. 

“Is there anyone who can help me with something a bit, well, secret? It’s for…”

“Ah, a Malfoy. Finally, Kreacher sees wizard of repute.” 

Draco raised an eyebrow at the decrepit old house elf. “Excuse me?”

“Kreacher is Harry Potter’s elf.” 

“Kreacher servers the great and noble house of Black.”

These were both said at the same time, and it took Draco several moments to connect these two separate, but very related things.

“Kreacher is Harry Potter’s elf? What are you doing here then?”

“Master Potter has need of good elf, and Great House of Black has no wizards.”

Draco blinked. No one in the Black house? But, wait…

Realization slowly dawned on Draco, as he blinked down at the big round eyes of the house elves. Potter...had no one. Draco knew the story of his birth, and the death of Potter’s parents, but he never really thought about it, not deeply. Of course there wasn’t anyone waiting for Potter at home. There wasn’t anyone to wait. He had heard rumors that Potter’s adoptive family were...not good people, and unlikely to remain in each others lives, now that Potter was an adult. 

But…

“Why is Potter in the Black home?”

Kreacher turned a head, an unfathomable look on his face. “Harry Potter is the sole heir of the Black family, godson of the last heir, Sirius Black.”

Draco thought that sounded familiar, something overheard by his father, or aunt. Knowing Aunt Bella, she had likely shrieked it from the rooftops. But he had never given it much thought. It hadn’t mattered. Frankly, for what Draco needed, it still didn’t. But it was something to keep in mind.

“So you know his tastes well, do you?” Draco asked the small elf.

A nod.

“Kreacher knows Potter’s tastes well.”

Draco smiled “Good. Kreacher, was it? Think you can help me out with something?”

“Kreacher will gladly and happily help the heir of the Malfoy family.”

* * *

_ Dear Potter, _

_ First and foremost, I would like to apologize. I was out of line, and took my anger and frustration out on you. I know that I was wrong, and I don’t know how to fix this, whatever this may be. _

_ To start, I would like to extend an invitation to meet me in the usual spot, this Friday, at 11:00pm. I know we do not typically plan these meetups, but, here I am. Extending an invitation I hope you will accept. _

_ I’ll be there regardless of whether you acquiesce or not. I don’t blame you if you do not. _

_ Yours, _

_ DM _

**

It had taken Draco all weekend to write that letter. There was a pile of crumpled parchment near his wastebasket, large black drops and smudge marks all over the words. 

Short and simple would be best, Draco thought. The easiest way to get Potter to at least read the letter, if nothing else. 

The first few letters were too honest, too real. Too raw to show anyone, let alone Harry Potter, the one person whose pain and trauma outweighed his own. A victim of circumstances, even more so that Draco himself, but something they had in common, a deeply painful connection, but something was better than nothing. And Draco was finding that “nothing” was exactly what he didn’t want from Harry Potter, the one person who he craved with his soul.

Friendship was weird, and, frankly, Draco was done questioning these feelings. If he could fix his friendship with Potter, then he would do anything to do that. If not, well, Draco was used to fucking everything up. He wouldn’t, couldn’t blame Potter.

But he had hope, even if it was only a fragment of such.

He tied the letter to his owl, heartbeat in his throat, and released her.

Regardless of the outcome, there was nothing else to be done now. 

He would just have to wait. And hope. 


	9. The Way you Look Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has sent an invitation-will it be accepted?

Harry Potter did not answer the owl.

Not that Draco had asked him to. Or even expected it. Draco just…

...was an absolute ball of nerves and was not coping well. 

What if Potter didn’t show up? What if he hated Draco so much, he wouldn’t even accept an apology? What if all they had talked about, or...whatever they had done, meant nothing to Potter? What if their...whatever...was all fucked up now, irreparable forever, because Draco jumped to conclusions faster than his father to the killing curse.

On the plus side, Draco was too nervous, too nauseous, to be concerned about the looks he still received once he went back to classes. Which, frankly, was not really that much of a plus side. 

And Draco did still get to at least see Potter, during meals, and the one class they still shared together. It was a torturous plus side, seeing the person Draco wanted to reach out to the most, but the one person most likely to rebuff him.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. 

The whole school would likely rebuff him, but Potter’s would be the only one that hurt so deeply, puncturing his heart into dust. Clawing through his throat, constricting and biting. 

Which is why he was a ball of nerves and anxiety. 

The feelings only intensified when he saw Potter, during those rare times during the day, in the Great Hall. He was surrounded by his friends, always with his friends, and Draco avoided Potter’s eyes. 

Draco saw, of course, his eyes downcast, but still turned towards that brightness that was Potter, the light that was the Chosen one.

Granger and the Weasley's were often with Potter, elbowing him in the ribs as they shot glances at the Slytherin table.

Draco didn’t understand it, didn’t understand the elbow, or the smirks, and didn’t know who to ask to figure it all out.

It just added to the ever-growing ball of tight anxiety in the pit of his stomach, threatening to spill over. Threatening to release the white noise and screams that filled his head as he watched these interactions. 

But it was only a few more days. Draco could be patient. It had taken him most of year to fix a stupid cabinet, and he’d been patient with that, his mother’s life on the line. He could be patient for this too. 

It was only a few days, after all.

* * *

“Draco, darling, you’re distracted. What is going on?”

Draco turned towards the fire, another floo date with Pansy. She’d actually owled to schedule this one, and Draco had agreed, mind full of Potter, and anxiety, words screaming, echoing against his skull.

Pansy would be a good distraction. Or so he had thought.

Instead, she was perceptive and persistent, her lips pursed, eyebrow raised as she waited for an answer.

“Well?”

Draco sighed. 

“I fucked up. Bad.”

“Oh, darling. I’m sure it isn’t so bad. Tell me, maybe I can help.”

“I doubt that, Pans. I really doubt that.”

And then he told her everything. From the trial, to their first train encounter, to those morbidly delicious babies of jelly. To the Howler...and the to his ill-advised leap to wrong conclusions. He even mentioned the nausea, the waves of anxiety and sorrow, fingers trembling with complete and utter fear that he’d fucked it all up.

She listened, nodding along with parts, raising her delicate eyebrow at others. It was...nice, to have someone else to talk to about all of it. It wasn’t the same as talking with Potter, but it was nice in a different way.

“Darling, I think you’re stressing too much. Potter is too good, too forgiving to let this ruin your relationship.”

“-but-”

“No, Draco. There is no ‘buts’ here. Saint Potter sought you out on the train, shared his snacks, and seems to genuinely enjoy your company. Merlin, Draco, he saved your life. I doubt he would let something like your perpetually bad attitude ruin your relationship. Potter has always known that you are an absolute prat.”

Draco pursed his lips.

“-we don’t have a relationship.”

Pansy raised a delicate eyebrow “Maybe not yet. But anyways, he doesn’t hate you, and he isn’t one to drop friendships over a misunderstanding. I mean, think of all the shit he put up with with Weasley. Potter has the patience of a saint, with people that he likes. And Draco? I think you’re one of them.”

Draco found he didn’t have much of a response to that, as he cheeks flared to life, hot in the cool air. 

Pansy seemed to understand, and changed the subject, instead regaling him with her adventures in France.

Draco was grateful.

* * *

The week passed quicker than Draco would have thought possible, Friday rearing it’s nerve wracking head faster than Draco was prepared for. 

He didn’t even try to eat at meals, knowing that it would be useless. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep anything down, even if he’d tried. Which he didn’t want to, stomach full of knots, anxiety beating against his chest, his throat. 

He didn’t remember a thing about any of his classes, only aware that he went to any of them based on the homework assignments he’d managed to scribble down on paper. 

Draco did manage to make all the arrangements for the evening however. Everything was ready to go 3 hours before Potter would even show up, but Draco couldn’t wait, couldn’t not anxiously arrange and rearrange everything, double checking the charms, preparing and rehearsing what he wanted to say.

He paced the room, back and forth. 

Deep breaths in.

Checking the room again, rearrange the items he’d brought.

Pace again.

Tried to enjoy the view, the night sky clear through the windows. The dark midnight blues and blacks, dotted with burning stars, bright against the darkness. Tree branches swaying in the light breeze, all the leaves fallen to the ground with the drop in temperature.

It would be Christmas soon, and Draco had no idea what he was going to do. But, that was a problem for another day. Today, he had to fix this.  _ Had _ to.

Draco paced back and forth, as the minutes ticked by. His mind was filled to white noise, as he contemplated scenarios. What if Potter didn’t show up? What if he did show up, only to lose his shit at Draco? Really lay into him about how stupid Draco was? What if-

Draco could feel himself spiraling, the thoughts screaming against his skull, pounding like an echo. He wanted to stop, but it was like a broken record, repeating the same thing over and over.

“...Malfoy?”

Draco froze in his pacing, slowly turning his head towards the entrance, eyes wide as his heart sank, then suddenly skyrocketed.

Potter was there, standing in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his trousers. Draco had no idea who told Potter to dress better, but whoever it was was a godsend. Since the 8th year had started, Potter’s muggle clothing choices had become better. Better fit, better cuts, and hung on Potter in a way that highlighted how fit Potter really was.

“You came.” Draco spoke before he could think, surprise loosening his thoughts, which all fled from his brain the second he saw Potter.

“Uh, yea. Of course I did.” He shuffled into the room, eyes never leaving Draco's. “Look, I get it, I do, it’s bloody hard-”

“No, please.” Draco interrupted, hand out, as he turned towards the other boy. He took a deep breath in. “You were right. I was a dick. I was hurt, and…” Another deep breath in, and he let it out slowly.

The speech that he had planned had gone to shit.

“-I’m sorry. I...I just…” Another deep breath in. “Look, Potter, I just don’t get why you would want to be friends. I mean, with me. I...I am not a good person, and, us...we...I mean-”

“You mean we started off on the wrong foot and then continued to piss each other off for years? Malfoy...Draco. We aren’t the same kids anymore.” He paused, moving closer. “I meant what I said at your trial. I do truly believe that most of what you did wasn’t out of malice, or I dunno, belief in what Voldemort stood for. You did what you had to. I……”

A few moments of silence, as Draco watched Potter, waiting for whatever he wanted to say. The air felt heavy, poignant, and Draco wouldn’t interrupt. Whatever Potter wanted to say was important.

“You did what you had to to protect your family and...if I had one, I’d have done the same.”

Draco had thought he was prepared for this conversation, this night. But at Potter’s words, he realized that he was wrong. So completely wrong.

“Potter-”

“Harry. Please.”

Draco swallowed hard, heart thundering against his chest, in his throat, in time with the butterflies that exploded in his stomach.

“Harry...I was a dick, as a kid. And I don’t think I can properly express how sorry I am about...well, everything.” he paused, eyes downcast, staring at the stone floor, the cracks and divots. “I meant what I said before, you know. About..never being good enough. I guess...I still feel that way.”

Pott-Harry made a noise, a small huff through his nose, and shuffled closer, shoe-clad feet now coming into Draco’s view as he still resolutely stared at the floor. What the fuck was a Converse, and why did it look so comfortable?

“Draco...we just went through hell. Both of us. It’s not a matter of being good enough or not. Who decides that kind of shit anyways? I like you and that should be enough.”

The butterflies threatened to explode even further, fluttering against his throat, choking, leaving Draco light headed. He kept his gaze down, and could feel the heat radiating from his cheeks.

“Right...I...I like you too.”

Draco looked up, and was met with those bright forest eyes, crinkled around the edges with the brilliance of Harry’s grin. Draco knew he was staring, but who could blame him? A smiling Harry Potter was like the goddamn sun-radiant and nearly blinding. 

“Food.”

“What?”

“I...as an apology, I had the house elves help make a special meal for you. Well, the elves did all the work. Kreacher kicked me out of the kitchen.” Draco gestured towards where they normally sat. There were several dishes all spread out, stasis charms over all the food. Draco had added more pillows and blankets, even including several in the Gryffindor colours. 

“You met Kreacher?”

“Ah, yea. He seemed eager to help, to be honest.”

Harry shrugged. ‘He’s always liked the Malfoy side of the Black family, so.” Another shrug. “Is...is that treacle tart?”

Draco nodded, as they moved towards the food, the comfort of the little area of tranquility they had carved out for themselves.

“Yes. That was the one thing I actually did get to help make, before being thrown from the kitchens.” Draco responded.

“Sounds about right. Kreacher is...stuck in his ways.”

As they both sat, the room seemed a little brighter, the air a little lighter. They both ate and drank, laughing and making small jokes. Draco couldn’t have wished for anything more.

Knew this was more than he even deserved.

Draco knew he was getting off easy, knew that, if he had wanted, Harry could have come in, told Draco off, and never spoke to him again. And Draco would have accepted it.

But he was glad he didn’t have to. Relieved beyond belief that was not his fate, not today.

“Oh, I brought something too!” Harry exclaimed, pulling something out of his pocket. He said something quietly, and the item grew in size. It was black and square and-

“The music box.” Draco said, surprised. “I didn’t know you’d fixed it.”

Harry nodded, placing it down between them on a blanket, and fiddled with the buttons. “I got it all fixed this week. I had hoped...well, I’d hoped today would go well.”

The soft sounds of jazz emerging from the music box, sounds Draco recognized.

“And did it?” Draco asked, looking at Harry from the corner of his eyes, seeing the small smile, the flushed cheeks, as he looked down at the box.

“Yea. Yea it did.”

Draco smiled, turning to look towards the window, watching as a cloud moved across the inky blue sky, uncovering the bright light of the moon. He peeked at Harry, seeing those bright green eyes staring right at him, that small smile still in place, revealing small dimples, kissed with the faintest of freckles. 

_ “ _ _ Some day, when I'm awfully low. When the world is cold. I will feel a glow just thinking of you.  _ _ And the way you look tonight” _

“I think so too.” Draco whispered, feeling his face flush. He couldn’t pinpoint why he blushed, or why he felt so light, but so full, heart dangerously pounding against his chest.

He didn’t know what he was feeling, but he wanted to keep feeling it. Feel this good, so happy, for as long as he could.

Feel this full of hope. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos. My crops are watered and my skin is clear.
> 
> The italics are Frank Sinatra's The Way You Look Tonight. It is for SURE a Drarry song. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed.


	10. Welcome to my nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are going well. Well, until they aren't.

“Draco, can I be candid for a second?”

Draco blinked at Pansy. He’d just told her all about his night with Harry. She’d nearly dropped her drink when he’d called him by his first name. Draco was still shocked that it had gone so well, the fluttering in his stomach still there, warm and exciting. 

“I-I mean, yes? Pans, you’re giving me a look and it’s weird. What’s up?”

She raised a delicate eyebrow at that, but continued. “Draco, darling, you are aware of the fact that you’re in love with Potter, yes? This isn’t something new I’m telling you?”

Draco blinked.

“What?”

He must have misheard her, right? Surely she didn’t just say he was in love with Harry, right? His heart fluttered, and he ignored that, still unsure of what it all meant. 

“I mean maybe I’m wrong-”

‘You are wrong!” Draco interrupted, voice cracking, heart thundering against his chest, vibrating his bones.

He felt lightheaded and dizzy as the blood rushed around his ears, roaring and loud.

Pansy gave him a look he couldn’t decipher, passing so quickly he couldn’t get a good read on it.

“Then I guess I’m wrong.” she cleared her throat “So Mother was thinking about coming home for the holidays-”

* * *

“So, you don’t want to be an Auror?”

Draco and Harry were in their tower, seated facing the windows. There had been no plans to meet, but they had both shown up within a few minutes of each other.

“Er, no. I mean, I did. Before, but…” Harry paused, dragging a hand through his already-messy hair, and turned to face Draco, a sheepish look on his face. “...I think I’ve had enough of chasing dark wizards, y’know?”

Draco snorted “I bet you have.”

In the dark of the room,in the soft glow of moonlight, Harry’s eyes glowed like jade.

“What do you want to do instead? Do you know?”

At that, Harry sighed. “I was so set on being an Auror for so long...I didn’t even think of it much. I mean, professional Quidditch was a possibility, but I think I want to be out of the spotlight. Just...away from it.” He paused, and Draco watched as he stared out the window, lower lip pulled between his teeth.

“Maybe open a shop? I’m not sure. What about you?”

“Me? Oh.” Draco blinked. “I...well, I never really had much of a choice. Once Father had decided I would get the Dark Mark, whatever thoughts about my future I had entertained were gone.”

Draco saw Harry’s hand move a bit closer, just out of the corner of his eye, but ignored it.

“I suppose I always wanted to work with potions development. There are so many areas that can still use new and updated work.” He snorted, before continuing “But that makes the assumption that anyone would ever buy from a convicted death eater.”

‘I would.”

Draco snapped his head up “What?”

“Id’d buy potions from you. I know how good you are at them.” Harry shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Draco could only shake his head. “Not everyone is like you, Harry.”

Harry’s grin was nearly blinding.

“Their loss then. I’ll have exclusive use of the soon-to-be greatest potions masters personal stores then.” A beat. “But, seriously, Draco. I think you should do it. You’re talented and passionate and deserve to be the absolute best, and I’d happily help however you think I can.”

The lump in Draco’s throat prevented him from responding, not that he had even one thing to say.

* * *

“Wait, that was  _ you _ ? Seriously, Harry, I have to know. Are you absolutely mental?”

Laughter filled the room, as Draco stared, grinning, at Harry who was absolutely losing it.

“Okay, but to be fair, it was Hermione’s idea! We didn’t think we’d actually run into anyone, least of all you.”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, his own laughter bubbling up. “You didn’t think you would run into other Slytherins  _ near the Slytherin common room _ ? You  **are** daft!”

Laughter bubbled throughout the room, before Draco stopped, as something occurred to him.

“Wait, what did you end up doing with the real Crabbe and Goyle?”

“Lured them with cakes and locked them in a closet?” Harry responded, grinning as he faced Draco.

Draco snorted. “Sounds about right.”

* * *

“Kreacher told me that you made all of the treacle tart this time?”

“I-yes. Yes I did.” 

Even as he said the words, Draco could feel the flush crawling up his neck, blooming around his cheeks.

“It’s really good. Thank you, Draco.”

Draco watched as a matching flush bloomed across Harry’s ears, as they both tucked in to another shared snack.

* * *

“You know, I’ve been wondering…” Draco started. Face resolutely turned towards the window.

Harry hummed.

“Why don’t you ever bring your girlfriend here?”

“Eh?”

Draco swallowed hard, but pushed forward, voice low and quiet. “I mean, it is quite the view, and this could be an ideal place for-”

“I don’t have a girlfriend” Harry interrupted, voice loud in the quiet of the room.

“But-wait. I thought you were with the Weasley girl?” Draco couldn’t bring himself to look at Harry, even though he could feel those eyes on him. They’d never talked about...romance, and Draco felt the strangest sensation deep in his gut, uncomfortable and tight.

“We broke up before the final battle...and never picked it back up. She wanted to, but…” Harry trailed off.

“But?”

Harry sighed. “You’ve seen the Weasleys. They’re bright and happy and just so _ much _ . Too much, for me at least. I saw how they are, and, I admit that I’m envious of all that love and support and  _ brightness _ . But it isn’t for me. Staying with Ginny would have meant being part of that and...I guess I’ve seen too much of the darkness for that.” a short, humorless laugh “It just wasn’t for me. I need someone who understands that darkness, I reckon.”

“-I see.”

“But, what about you? I know Parkinson didn’t come back, but you two are still together, yea?”

“Pansy? As my…” Draco laughed, full and deep, face hurting, as tears gathered. “No no no. Pans as my girlfriend? Oh, that is a laugh!”

He wiped a tear away from his eye, still chuckling at that absolutely ridiculous idea. He and Pansy? Laughable.

“But, weren’t you two together before? In sixth year?”

Draco shook his head, still grinning. “Our parents tried to arrange something between us, that is true. But she doesn’t like boys too much as it turns out.”

“And do you?” Draco could feel Harry looking at him as the quiet question escaped his lips. Feel the intensity behind the stare as Harry asked, searching.

“What? Like boys?” Draco shrugged, his heart exploding against his chest, certain Harry could hear it. “I’m not opposed.”

“I see.” Harry responded, turning back to the window. 

They didn’t talk about those non-existent girlfriends again. 

* * *

It was a Saturday, and Draco was restless. He’d barely slept the previous several nights, the nightmares too deep, too visceral. Too real. 

The scent of fresh blood, the meat of a human body, all with the backdrop of screams of torment, of pain, and maniacal laughter.

Instead, he paced his room, the common areas. Then the castle and the grounds as they day waned. His mind was full of red and gore, of red, slitted eyes, of the voice of his mother, clear as a bell, “he is dead”.

The pacing lead him to the astronomy tower, as his wanderings usually did. The comfort, the familiarity of the room, drew Draco in, called to his noisy mind, offering a soothing balm against the rage of pain inside his head, in his heart.

It hadn’t been this bad in a while, and that made Draco feel even worse. He had thought it was getting better, that he was healing, dealing with the absolute chaos inside of him.

But he wasn’t. This episode was proof that he was even failing at that one task.

Draco lay on the floor of their room, burying his head against the blankets and cushions. Breathed in the scent of cinnamon and pine that lingered in the fabric. 

He just wanted peace. A few moments of quiet, but even that was denied him, as his mind roared to life.

Draco was in the Manor’s great hall, seated beside his father, who gripped his thigh, bruising and painful.

Across him, red eyes slowed in malice, testing Draco, testing to see if he would flinch or squirm. The grip against his thigh increased, nearly unbearable.

The smell of iron, the taste of knuts dancing against the back of his tongue, biting and sour. That smell increased, as he kept his eyes locked with those inhuman red ones, intense, staring into his very being. He could hear shrieks in the next room, screaming in agony, unbearable pain. The words muffled and drawn out 

_ “You can’t have my son! _ ”

_ “He’s all I have, all I-” _

The smell of raw meat intensified, and Draco could hear chains against the marble floor, moving closer and closer. He didn’t dare look, eyes still locked with the deformed, snake-like eyes of the Dark Lord. Draco could feel the tendrils of thoughts, looking and searching within his own mind, invasive and prying, digging through thoughts and memories. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t look away.

This was a test. One that Draco needed to pass. 

He was a talented Occlumens, had been taught from a damn young age, pushed and pushed, to be able to withstand any attack, to always be ready for anything, or anyone. Including the Dark Lord.

There was movement to his left, but Draco refused to move his eyes. The grip on his leg somehow intensified, fingers trembling, digging into the meat of his thigh. And still, Draco didn’t move. The pain kept him focused, kept his eyes locked on those red slits, boring into his memories, into the private places of his mind, prodding for information, for memory, for emotion.

The feeling of warm wetness hitting his face broke Draco’s concentration, the taste of knuts deeper, more pronounced, the scent of iron permeating the air.

A wave of dread crashed over Draco, as the face across from his broke into a grin.

He didn’t want to look, but his gaze moved without his consent.

At first, his mind refused to put the picture together-flowing hair, nearly white splattered with red; neck slit open, crimson rivulets flowing down pale skin; blue eyes clouded in the last throes of life.

Draco nearly vomited.

Then it clicked.

_ “Moth-” _

“Wake up, Draco!”

With a gasp, Draco sat up, heart thundering against his chest, wand already in his hand and at the throat of whoever was touching his shoulder.

“Draco, it’s just me. It’s Harry.” the voice said, calm and quiet. 

“Harry?” Draco croaked, throat raw and painful. He tried to swallow, nearly choking.

A hand rubbed gentle circles against his back, gentle and soothing. “Yes, Draco. Harry. You were having a nightmare and...I didn’t want you to go through that alone.”

“-nightmare? I-” 

Like a flash of lightning, it all came back. The blood, rivers of it, spilling from the slit throat. The stench of iron, taste of copper knuts against his tongue. 

His mother.

Tears streamed down his face, before he even realized what was happening. His entire body collapsed, wand falling. 

“It’s okay, Draco. You’ll be okay.” Harry spoke softly, still rubbing small circles against Draco.

“It was so real!” Draco sobbed. “Like a memory...but Mother is okay, she didn’t die. Mother is okay-”

Draco repeated it like a mantra, if he said it enough, it would still be true. He knew it was. He had just received an owl from his mother two mornings ago. She was fine.

She would still be fine.

Warm hands continued their circular journey across his back, as the sobs wracked his body.

“Come on, Draco. Lets get this on you-” 

Draco felt a cool cloak wrap around him, surrounding him completely, even his head.

“-you’re in no shape to be alone. I’m taking you to my room. Can you stand?”

Draco didn’t respond, instead he stood up and, gripping Harry’s hand within his own, simply nodded, a tear dripping down his nose as he did so.

“Okay, try and stay quiet just a bit longer, okay?” The warm hand engulfing Draco’s squeezed gently, then a gently tug.

Draco said nothing as he followed that warm hand. He didn’t know where the Gryffindor common rooms were, not exactly. He’d never cared before. 

The hand stopped tugging, and then Draco heard Harry say something, then through a portrait. Draco hadn’t even seen which one, too focused on that hand, that feeling of warmth and comfort that emanated from their connected parts. 

Through a warm, dimly lit room. Up some stairs, down a hall. Another door opened with a whispered phrase, and then the cool cloak disappeared. 

“Sorry it’s a bit messy.” Harry said, pulling clothes off the bed, and throwing them towards a hamper.

Draco looked around, taking in the dark wood walls, the four posted bed-exactly like his own in all but colour. The one facing him was a deep gold and maroon, the warm colours warmed further by the flickering of the large fireplace, crackling and bright.

“Come on, let’s…” Harry’s face was flushed as he spoke, gently taking Draco’s hand again. Draco followed wordlessly, mind numb, body listless and exhausted.

Harry pulled him onto the bed, hand pushing and rearranging Draco until he was laying on his side, face turned towards the bright fire. He felt as Harry pulled a comforter over them, as he settled in behind Draco. Thick legs tucked in behind Draco’s, touching, but only just. An arm rested gently against Draco’s bicep, hand hanging above the comforter.

Draco knew he should object, should feel awkward, but he couldn’t get past the warmth that soaked into his bones, into his heart, thawing the ice cold of the nightmare. Exhaustion was pulling him under, and Draco barely felt his eyes shutting.

He was nearly out when a quiet whisper sounded from behind him, soft breath against his hair, his ear.

“Sleep, Draco. I’ll protect you.”

And he was out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pour one out for poor Draco, my dears.
> 
> These chapters just keep getting longer, eh? I'd apologize but I wouldn't mean it.
> 
> If you didn't notice yet, there is now an official chapter count! We're almost there lads! Just a few more to go.
> 
> I love comments and kudos and I say we all make 2020 a bit gayer, yes?  
xo


	11. In a Week

The first thing Draco noticed, as his mind slowly slipped into consciousness, was how warm he was. He felt warm, and protected, as if in being embraced by the strongest security blanket, designed especially for him. The scent of rain-soaked, fresh pine mingled with smoky cinnamon and cloves was the second thing he noticed. 

Draco nuzzled further into the warmth, rubbing his cheek against the soft blankets, burrowing into the strong arms wrapped against his-

-wait.

Draco’s eyes flew open. Arms? Who the fuck was-

-and then it all came back to him, like a river of ice through his veins. 

He must have made some noise, some movement. Something that would alert Draco’s bed partner to his wakefulness.

“Draco?” Voice husky with sleep, breath hot against Draco’s neck. The arm currently wrapped around his waist pulled tighter and Draco had the sudden realization that Harry wasn’t wearing a top.

Draco knew he was normally graceful, and moved with the type of elegance that was bred into him from infancy, by a strong fist, a scolding glance. 

But this was not his finest hour. No, Draco practically leapt from the bed, pulling the blankets off himself so quickly they flew in the air…

...revealing that, against what the scandalous tabloids postulated, Harry did, in fact, sleep in trousers. 

“Sorry, I, er…” Draco ran a hand through his hair, backing away from the bed, heart hammering against his lungs, against his ribs. “Thanks for everything, Harry. Got to go.”

And was out the door before Harry could even sit up.

Draco wasted no time in bolting through the halls. He had only a vague idea of where he was, but nearly ran towards where he thought-correctly, thankfully- the exit portrait of the Gryffindor common room was. He avoided even looking at the couches and chairs to see if anyone saw him.

Draco didn’t even know what time it was.

Truthfully, Draco cared very little about what people thought about  _ him _ leaving the Chosen One’s bedroom at who-the-fuck-knew what time in the morning. He did, however, care about what people would say about Harry. Draco knew his reputation was trash, but Harry was still as beloved as ever. If that were to ever change, Draco wanted to be sure he had nothing to do with it.

As he came to the back of the portrait, he took a breath in, steeling himself. Draco opened the door slowly, quietly as he could. 

But it didn’t matter.

“A Slytherin! In my rooms?” The voice, shrill in the quiet of the early morning, raised in volume as she spoke. “Who would dare-”

“Sorry” Draco whispered as he closed the portrait behind him, glancing at the Fat lady who stared right back at him.

“Ah. I see, I see.” The Fat lady nodded her head knowingly, then made a shooing gesture. “Hurry, before others wake.”

“-right. Thanks.” Draco replied, confused to Merlin. He hurried to his own rooms, so far from the tower, keeping his gaze down, on the off chance he saw anyone.

Draco could still feel the weight of Harry’s arm against his waist, the heat of the skin that matched the heat in his cheeks. The scent of rain soaked pine and cinnamon, smokey cloves clung to his skin, familiar and longing deep within Draco.

Draco...hadn’t hated it, if he were being honest with himself. Hadn’t hated waking up next to someone, wrapped in a warm protective embrace. Hadn’t hated waking up next to Harry.

Draco sighed, opening his own portrait, which only raised an eyebrow at his absence the previous night. He shouldn’t, couldn’t, get used to sleeping with someone. No one in their right mind would want to be with a Death Eater, regardless of whether it was his choice or not. No one in the magical world, anyways. And dating a Muggle seemed...complicated. Not that he was against it, but Draco knew nothing about the Muggle world, or people, or even how they went about dating, in general.

Besides, Draco knew he was not the easiest to get along with. Even his closest friends gave him space sometimes. The only one who seemed able to deal with Draco’s moods and taciturn personality was...Harry. 

Another sigh as Draco turned on the shower, letting the hot water and steam soak into his skin. 

Those two thoughts connected-that is, dating and Harry-gave Draco an un-identified feeling low in his gut. Fluttery and tight and so so warm. Comforting and familiar. A feeling that, while unfamiliar, also felt like coming home, like that warm feeling of acceptance and comfort and belonging.

Draco shook his head, attempting to clear his thoughts, as he scrubbed his hair, the faint feeling of regret as the last of that pine and smokey cinnamon scent followed the suds down the drain.

* * *

Draco was much calmer when he went for breakfast in the Great Hall. He had slept better than he had all week, was freshly clean, and had an entire day to himself to catch up on all the things he’d missed due to his... _ episode _ ...during the week.

First on his list was a return owl to his mother. He missed her dearly, and, despite knowing otherwise, Draco couldn’t shake that dream, the utter terror and despair at the visceral image of his mother bleeding out on their dining table.

He shuddered, pushing the images from his head.

Draco knew his mother was fine, but sending an owl first thing would ease his mind. The sooner he sent one, the sooner she would respond.

He sat at the Slytherin table, away from the rest of his house, pulling out parchment and quill, while serving himself eggs, toast and tea. Draco drowned out the chatter in the hall, and began composing his letter, focusing on not spilling his meal.

Draco was so focused he didn’t even notice when someone sat across from him, and jumped when a dark hand waved in front of his line of vision.

“Draco?”

Heart thundering, Draco looked up, already certain of who he would see. “Harry” his voice was quiet, unsure.

Draco had just unceremoniously run out of the other boys bed, which, you know, was a thing. 

“Alright there?” Harry asked, settling in across from Draco, using one of the empty plates to pile food onto. 

“Yea…are you joining me? Here?” Draco tried not to let the incredulity be too obvious in his voice, but it was a losing battle. At least he managed not to sneer. He looked around the Great Hall, the stares and whispers already starting, as the other students watched on.

Harry looked up, one eyebrow raised, a cup of tea halfway to his lips. “Is that okay?”

Draco blinked. Those forest green eyes bore into his own, questioning, challenging. He cleared his throat. Fuck the onlookers. Let them stare. 

“Yes, of course. Just unexpected is all.”

Harry smirks, then picks up a fork. “Might as well get used to it, then.”

“Right.”

* * *

“-they’re spending an awful lot of time together, ‘Mione. What if he’s up to something? How can we just let Harr-”

A cool voice interrupted. “Ronald, Harry is an adult. He can have friends that aren’t us.”

“But it’s  _ Malfoy _ !”

“Yes, and?”

Another conversation Draco should not hear, but now that he was there, how could he possibly leave? 

He was crouched behind the library shelves, looking for a particular book, while the two thirds of the golden trio were on the other side of the same shelf. 

The two were silent for a few moments, and Draco barely breathed, trying his best to listen, but remain unseen. He hadn’t yet spoken to either of Harry’s friends, and knew he owed them both an apology, but, he wasn’t ready. Not yet.

“Do you believe Harry that Malfoy has changed?” Weasley asked, voice quiet, questioning. 

A few more moments of silence, where Draco held his breath, before Granger responded.

“Yes. I do.” Her voice was firm.

“-but-”

“No, Ron. No buts, no excuses. It’s clear that Malfoy is different this year-didn’t you see his face when that Howler exploded?” Draco flushed here, shame and guilt twisting his gut. “That isn’t the face of someone who still feels the same as he did.”

A pause, before Granger spoke again, so quietly if Draco weren’t less than a meter from her, he’d have never heard. “If he ever even **did** feel that way.”

“Besides” Granger continued “I believe Harry. We’ve all changed, and I can’t imagine why Malfoy wouldn’t.”

Draco stared uncomprehendingly at the book titles long after Granger and Weasley had left the library, a new, warm feeling settling into his core.

* * *

Despite what Draco had assumed, Harry did, in fact, keep eating meals with him. Not all of them, of course. But, once a day, for that entire week, Harry would pull up a chair in front of Draco, and go about his meal, chatting with Draco much like they did in their tower. 

After the third day, the rest of the students stopped whispering so much.

* * *

“So that was a, what, cloaking...cloak?” Draco asked.

They sat so close to each other, they were nearly touching. The weather had turned cold, the first snow had fallen, and, despite their best efforts, there was a slight chill in the tower.

Soon, they would have to stop their visits, their meetings.

Draco wasn’t ready, not by a long shot.

“Well…” Harry ran a hand through his hair, side of his mouth quirked up “It’s an Invisibility cloak.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, there’s only one, and that-” Draco stopped, the expression on Harry’s face giving him pause. “You aren’t serious...Harry. _Please_.”

Harry said nothing, but that expression-one eyebrow quirked, smirk on those lips, and green eyes alight with mischief.

“You have to be fucking kidding me.” Draco said, lowering his head, eyes looking up, as his fingers massaged his forehead. “Of course  _ you _ of all people have the one and only legendary goddamn Invisibility cloak.”

Harry laughed, deep and loud, echoing across the chill room.

“That explains so much.”

Harry only continued to chuckle, eyes alight with mirth.

The room felt less cold after that.

* * *

Draco looked around the Great Hall, looking for those messy black locks. Harry normally at least came to say hi, even if he wasn’t sitting with the Slytherin.

But it was now dinner, and Draco hadn’t seen Harry at all. It felt...lonely. And worrisome. 

He craned his neck, looking over to the Gryffindor table, for the hundredth time that day. Granger and the two Weasley’s were there. But no Harry.

If anyone asked, Draco would deny having ever pouted a day in his life, but anyone looking knew the blond was definitely pouting. 

* * *

Harry wasn’t at any meal the next day either. Or in the one class he and Draco shared.

Maybe it was the freshness of the war, during which people would just go..._missing_, or maybe Draco had finally learned to trust his gut, but he knew something was wrong.

Tense anxiety burned in his stomach, biting acid in his throat, as Draco hurt his neck looking around for Harry.

To no avail. He did see Granger and the Weasleys, and, for a brief moment, contemplated asking them where Harry was.

An idea that was promptly rejected. Granger might believe that he had changed, but that didn’t mean she trusted him enough to talk to him. Not about Harry. 

Draco sighed. Maybe he could send an owl? Would his own be too conspicuous? 

He tapped a finger on the table, as he pondered. He could always use a school owl, but if the recipient was on school grounds-as Draco suspected-they were much less reliable, often easily confused, and-

“Malfoy?” a voice sounded from behind him, interrupting his thoughts. 

Draco spun around to see who in Merlin’s name would be talking to him, in public no less, and was surprised to see Granger and Ginerva. What in the nine hells…?

“Granger, Weasley.” he responded, eyebrow raised as he turned all the way around to face them.

Granger looked back to the Gryffindor table-probably at her boyfriend-then turned back, and locked her eyes onto Draco’s.

“I know that you’ve been spending a lot of time with Harry, and you are, well, friends, I suppose. He says that you’ve changed, for the better, and that-”

“We need your help.” Ginerva interrupted.

Draco could only stare incredulously. 

“Harry hasn’t left his room in nearly three days, and refuses to let any of us in. We’re-” Ginerva looked at Granger, then back at him. “-hoping that he’ll let you in.”

“Me?” Draco said, stupidly. Obviously him, they were talking to him, afterall. But, the facts didn’t make it any easier to accept the reality in front of him.

“Yes, you.” Granger replied. “He won’t let us in, he hasn’t come out. I’m not even sure he’s eating…” she chewed on her lip. “He won’t even let Kreacher in.”

Draco took a deep breath in. “If you two can figure out how to get me into his room, I’ll pack some food, and...see if he’ll see me.”

“We’ve already had Kreacher make a basket.” Ginerva and Granger shared a look, nodding to each other. “Let’s go.”

Another deep breath in, as Draco steeled his heart, and his nerves, and stood up. “Lead the way.”

* * *

The Gryffindor common room was just as warm and inviting as he’d remembered. Not that Draco was going to let the girls know he’d been there, of course. If Harry hadn’t already told them, he wasn’t going to break that news to them.

They lead them up the stairs, and down a hall, glaring at anyone who even glanced their way. Draco had to admit that he was impressed, their glares alone silences anyone who looked put out by Draco’s presence. His younger self...well, his younger self was an asshole. Now, he was just grateful Harry had such well respected and powerful friends.

They stopped at Harry’s door, shimmering with magic and wards. The girls hadn’t been joking when they said Harry wasn’t letting anyone in. Draco knew several of the wards, could taste the magic on the back of his tongue, familiar and powerful. No, these wards were meant for complete protection.

Ginerva held up a hand, preventing Draco from getting closer, while Granger knocked, eyes fearful and nervous.

“Harry? I know you don’t want to see us, but, we brought Malfoy...do you think-”

Before Granger could even finish, the doors magic glimmered brightly, then fizzled.

He could feel the surprise from both the girls, but Granger collected herself, shoving the basket of food into his chest, while Ginerva pushed him forward.

“Good luck.”

Draco swallowed hard, nodding at them both.

Deep breath in.

He pushed the door open.

Exhale.

Closed the door, which flared to life again, glimmering and humming with power behind Draco, sending a chill up his spine.

Another deep inhale, as he took in his surroundings. 

Soft music, haunted and sad, came from the black box near the bed. The fire was low, the room chill. Draco finally saw Harry, curled on the bed, beneath the covers, visible only by the black hair poking from the deep red comforter.

_ “Some would sing and some would scream.You soon find you have few choices...I learned the voices died with me” _

Draco can feel the melancholy, feel the sadness, as it soaks in his bones, resonating with the core of his very being. The entire room had an air of lethargic apathy, a sense of not-caring, yet caring too much.

Draco set the basket down, moving to the fire. Harry had taken care of him when he was a mess, now Draco needed to do this for Harry. He put more logs in the fireplace, moving them around so the fire burned bright, waves of heat emanating into the chill room.

Already the room felt lighter.

Harry hadn’t moved at all, but Draco paid it no mind, picking the basket back up, and slowly moving towards the bed. He casts a quick cleaning charm on both the bed and Harry, then set the basket on the edge.

A deep breath in, straightening his back.

Then Draco climbed onto the bed, swinging his legs, so that he sat back against the headboard and pillows.

“Harry.” His voice was soft in the quiet, as the music changed.

_ “I have never known hunger like these insects that feast on me...a thousand teeth and yours among them...” _

The bed shifts, as Harry turns over, head resting against Draco’s thigh, head tucked low, so Draco couldn’t see his face. Draco lifts his hand, gently placing his fingers on those soft black waves, running his fingers gently through the locks, pulling out the tangles and knots.

“You have to eat something. Please, Harry?”

The slight shifting beneath his hand let’s Draco know Harry nodded, and he rubbed his nails against Harry’s scalp, scratching ever so gently.

_ “We'll lay here for years or for hours. Thrown here or found, to freeze or to thaw. So long, we'd become the flowers.” _

That was when Draco saw the tears that softly fell on Harry’s cheeks, his own heart constricting in his chest, painful and tight. He shifts gently downward, so that Harry can rest against his chest, feeling the other boy wrap strong limbs around Draco’s own lithe one.

“I don’t know why, but this makes me feel things…” Draco whispers, voice thick with emotion.

“He doesn’t make us feel things...he  _ lets _ us feel things, feel...” Harry’s voice is thick and choked with tears.

“...there was just so much loss… and-”

Draco, his own eyes watery and burning, skims his hand down Harry’s scalp, down his neck, his back. Offering what little comfort he could, whispering things he’d read in books, had seen mothers do with distraught children. Running his fingers through thick black hair, across strong muscles, hot skin.

He has no idea how long they lay there, fire bright and warm, just holding each other, before Harry finally sits up, motioning towards the basket.

Draco eats with Harry, watching the other boy, making sure Harry eats enough. 

They don’t speak, just listen to the music. It wasn’t awkward as Draco had thought it might be, but comforting and companionable. 

When they finish the meal, they both settle back into the bed, comforter tugged up, warm around them. Draco was on his back, propped up by several pillows, with Harry curled into his side, head resting on his chest again, arm across his waist, pulling tight. 

Draco never thought he would be here again, be here with Harry, like this. 

_ “We'll lay here for years or for hours. Your hand in my hand, so still and discreet.” _

When Draco woke, he woke with a start, heat beating, skin flushed, breath coming in soft gasps.

It wasn’t a nightmare…

Draco looked down at the boy beside him, still curled against Draco’s side, sleeping peacefully.

The visuals of his dream, foggy and muffled, filled his mind. 

His own lips against Harry’s chest, licking a trail down, nipping hip bones that arched towards Draco, skin hot against his own searching fingers, nails scratching, pulling at his blond hair, a deep moan as he felt something hot and slick-

Draco bit his lip to keep from moaning, his pants tight and uncomfortable against his rock hard dick.

Fuck.

Draco closed his eyes, the images coming unbidden to his mind, and Draco let it go to completion. And then...

...then dream Harry kissed Draco so softly, so gently, like Draco was something precious, something special, and his heart hurt, constricting in his chest…feelings so strong, so full of love.

Wait.

What was it that Pansy had said before? Something about how he was in love with Harry?

Draco opened his eyes, and looked down at Harry, eyelashes just brushing cheeks kissed with freckles, leading to plump, soft looking lips.

Fuck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, that is a beast of a chapter. 100% not even re-read, I am so sorry. I'll do that later and update, but for now, please forgive mistakes. 
> 
> Music (in italics) is all Hozier.
> 
> Comments and kudos give me life.


	12. Realizations and resolutions

Fuck 

_ Fuck _

**FUCK.**

Okay. Draco just needed to get a hold of himself, and figure out how to deal with this. Whatever the fuck  _ this _ was.

Draco looked down at Harry again. The little freckles, like constellations against smooth cheeks, lips plump, inviting, the bottom lip sticking out, like Harry was pouting. As much as Draco had made fun of it, the black riot of curls was soft, silky, against Draco’s cheek, parting just to frame that lightning bolt scar, a permanent reminder of what Harry was,  _ who _ he was. 

The situation was, really, deceivingly simple. 

Draco was completely and utterly in love with his old enemy, his rival. The one person who was there for him when he needed someone the most. 

The boy who saved him.

And the one person Draco didn’t deserve. 

Fuck.

Draco needed to leave. Needed to go and figure out how to not be in love with Harry. Had to relearn how to be friends, which obviously was impossible. Now that Draco knew how he felt-, Merlin, how he’d felt for  _ years _ -he was such an idiot. Of course he loved Harry, how had he been so daft!

But.

Now that he knew...now that he was aware of the exact identity of those fucking butterflies, swimming around his stomach, beating against his throat, in time with his heartbeat. Now that he knew...how could he go back?

He had to leave.

A panic gripped Draco then, that cold feeling down his spine, the clench of his gut, telling him to flee, to run. To get as far away as he can.

Draco didn’t fight it, not like he fought the Dark Lord, and his father. No, Draco ran, like the fury of a thousand gods were nipping at his heels.

* * *

_ Dear Draco, _

_ I’ll be in our tower, until you come. Just...please.  _

_ Yours, Harry _

The owl had to tap at Draco’s window nearly five minutes before he dragged himself out of his bed. The white hot feeling of panic still burned within Draco, tempered with the overwhelming joy and terror of realizing he was in love.

Draco tried not to think about all the time they’d spent together, his mind focusing on little things he hadn’t noticed before.

The way Harry had smiled at him, when they had shared those babies of jelly.

The way Harry had just called it _their_ tower, as if they were something more together. 

The way Draco had felt warm inside, smiling to himself, as he cut and burned himself over and over, learning how to make treacle tart.

The way-Draco sighed.

So far, he had failed spectacularly at the idea of falling out of love with Harry. He knew it would be an utter waste of time, but...but if he didn’t, how could he stand to be around Harry? Knowing that he was completely head over heels?

Good god, how had he not noticed?

Draco gripped his neck, forehead resting against his knees, as he sat on his bed, owl gone, and parchment resting beside him.

He was a mess. Completely wrecked, mind so full, so heavy. How could Draco go and see Harry like this? Sick from worry, from those goddamn butterflies, the white hot burning of longing so deep in his core, so deep in his bones. How could Draco possibly go and see Harry like this?

But…

Draco sighed.

How could Draco deny Harry this?

* * *

Knowing that Harry was waiting made Draco hurry his steps, even as the cold weight of dread settled in his gut. He didn’t really know what Harry wanted, but guessed he was a bit upset over waking and finding Draco gone, again. The other option was that Harry was furious that Draco had seen him like that. 

The only certainty, as far as Draco could tell, was that Harry was not happy.

Draco sighed, as he trudged up the stairs. Best to get it all over and done. Whatever was going to happen, would happen, and, like always, Draco would ignore the shattered remains of his heart, and carry on.

The air was chill as Draco entered the room. Whatever warming charms they normally cast had long since expired, and Harry obviously hadn’t bothered to cast any more. 

Trust Harry not to take care of himself, the absolute idiot.

Draco silently cast several spells, still in the doorway of their room, before he turned to look at Harry, who was leaning against one of the walls, head tilted against the stone. He had a few blankets around him, but none covering his surely cold body. Draco frowned.

“Why did you leave?” Harry asked, voice hollow, as he continued to stare out the window.

“I-what?” Draco responded. He’d expected, well, he wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it wasn’t this.

“Why did you leave?” Harry repeated, still unmoving, gaze turned away.

“I don’t understand.” And Draco didn’t understand, not really. He got the question, of course, but this emptiness from Harry...that was new. New and terrifying, especially from the usually verbose man.

Harry sighed, and closed his eyes. A minute passed before he turned towards Draco, and opened his eyes, gaze intense, green eyes like flames, mesmerizing and deadly.

“You came to me, you were there for me…” Harry swallowed hard, and Draco watched as Harry’s hands clenched, knuckles a stark white against tan skin. Harry looked down, biting his lip, before looking back up, that fire dulled, hurt.

“I...thought that meant something…I thought that  _ I _ meant something...something more...that maybe we...I guess, maybe, that was just me then.”

The silence that followed was loud and painful, full of sorrow and the feeling of complete and utter defeat.

Draco felt his heart drop to his stomach at those words. He...had hurt Harry. Not the first time, of course, but this was worse, this was real. 

This was  **real.**

“Harry, no, please. Look-” Draco raked his hands through his white-blond hair, moving a few steps into the room, now at the edge of the blankets Harry sat on. “Please...I...look. This is all new for me. I’ve never.”

-been this bloody in love with someone, and I am terrified. That’s what Draco could have said, wanted to say, but he held himself back. Draco struggled to find the words he needed to fix this. He needed to make this right, needed-

“-felt like this with anyone else?” Harry’s voice was quiet, laced with some emotion Draco couldn’t identify. “Some kind of obsession? Some deep connection?”

“Yes! Exactly right!” Draco exclaimed, as he fell to his knees, now so close to Harry, they could touch.

They were silent a moment, and Harry turned away again, eyes towards the windows.

“Draco. I'll ask you one last time. Why did you leave?”

Draco sighed. This was it then. There was nothing left, nothing left to do but-

“Because I realized that I am completely and utterly in love with you, and I am terrified you will never want to see me again, after hearing that.”

The silence was loud, echoing deep within Draco. That was it. That was the end of them. For a brief, shining moment, he had thought Harry felt the same. Thought-well. That had been absurd, hadn’t it?

Warm fingertips gently grazed a path down Draco’s cheek, to his chin, lifting Draco’s head up, to face Harry, only a breath away. His own eyes wide as he stared into the depths of the forest, spring greens, deep jades, the prettiest things Draco had ever seen.

Before Draco could even comprehend what was happening, the scent of spring soaked pine, and smoky cinnamon and cloves filled his senses, and he felt soft pressure against his lips, the fingertips on his chin moving to gently cup his cheek.

Harry was kissing him. Harry was...

Draco responded, mind blank, one hand burying itself in the softest curls, the other slowly, gently, tracing Harry’s neck, fingers delving behind Harry’s ear, teasing the little curls there. He moved his lips with Harry’s, tongue darting out, sliding along the seam of Harry’s lips, tasting, teasing. Licking gently into Harry’s mouth, swallowing gasps of pleasure, as Harry moved closer, nearly sitting in Draco’s lap, held in place by Draco’s hands, which had traced hot lines down Harry’s back, grasping the gently swell between back and ass.

Too soon, all too soon, Harry pulled away, lips swollen and bruised, face flushed, eyes blown wide. Breath hot against Draco as he leaned in for one more quick kiss, just a brush of heated lips.

“Draco...I always want to see you.”

Draco blinked, before he realized what in Merlin’s name Harry was talking about, then smiled.

“Does...does that mean…”

“That I’m hopelessly in love with you too? Obviously, you prat!”

“Hey!” Draco smiled “It wasn’t that obvious!” He leaned in again, pressing soft kisses to Harry’s lips, cheeks, then pressed his nose against Harry’s.

“You’re sure you want...this? With me?” Draco couldn’t look at Harry when he asked. “It won’t be easy, the whole Deathea-”

“Draco-”

“-and the media will have a field day, you being the-”

“Draco. I don’t give a flying fuck what anyone else thinks of us. I...can’t imagine my life without you now. I don’t want to. Draco-” fingertips caressed Draco’s face, and he finally opened his eyes. “-I want you. Now, and always.”

Draco couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face, even if he’d wanted to. 

Harry had chosen him. Above anyone else. Harry had chosen  _ Draco _ .

“Now, “ Harry huffed “I was much happier, and warmer, laying in bed with you earlier. If it’s alright with you, I say we return to doing that.”

Draco may not have deserved this, deserved Harry, but Merlin fucking help him, he was going to fight tooth and nail to keep this. He entwined their fingers together as they stood, running his thumb along Harry’s.

Draco would work his ass off to deserve the warm, soft feelings pressing against his chest, deserve the strong hand, with warm fingers twined with his own.

Deserve the feeling like, for once, he’d been saved. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's almost all it! The next and final chapter will basically be all sexy sex times. 
> 
> Until then, ta!


	13. Ripples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry invites Draco to his room-what happens from there?
> 
> Awkward boys are awkward, and beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry, but I had to add another chapter, so there is still one after this. Please be patient with me. I had way more to get out for this story than I had originally thought.
> 
> *sprinkles hearts and love*

“Draco...when I said I wanted to be back in bed, I, uh-” Harry trailed off, face flush. “Er-”

Draco glanced at Harry, hands still entwined, as the door to Harry’s room closed behind them. If Draco had his way, they would never stop holding hands, the feeling of connection, the gentle touch of heat against his skin, his heart, was so much, so perfect, it nearly brought him to tears.

A small grin on his face, Draco lead them closer to the large bed, sheets and blankets still rumpled from the previous night, the basket containing the remaining food, preservation spell still intact, still within reach. Draco gently pushed Harry onto the bed, laying a gentle kiss against the Savior,  _ his _ savior-

“-wait- Draco, please-”

-then proceeded to reach down, hauling the basket and himself up on the bed beside Harry. He turned his head back to Harry, tilted to the side in question.

“I-” Harry ran his hand through his hair, the black waves sticking up in places. It was adorable. Not that Draco was going to say that, of course, but it was still true.

“-okay. I know that I was the one that invited you to, er, bed, I guess. But I, well….I didn’t mean it in a-” his voice went lower, cheeks turning an alarming shade of red, as he finally mumbled “-like, a  _ sex _ way.”

“Harry-”

“Not that I don’t want to! I do, just, maybe not this second, y’know? Like, I think-”

“Harry, please-”

“-about doing  _ that _ kind of thing with you, and I want to! I actually, I- I just…”

“Harry. I get it.” Draco interrupted, sure that whatever was coming next was sure to make him blush even harder. Not that any part of this conversation was easy, but Draco soldiered on. 

“I can’t say I haven’t thought about it, because I have-” at this, the flush on Harry’s cheeks spread, the tips of his ears bright pink “-and I too would like us to go  _ that  _ way, but,” Draco sighed, head down, eyes raised to Harry's. “This is all new. Really new. I never would have thought that we would ever…”

Draco couldn’t finish. The choking feeling of his chest beating against his ribs stole his breath.

“Draco?”

He looked up and fell into impossibly green eyes, burning like emerald flame, and Draco thought, again, they were the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.

“I’m happy it turned out like this. Like  _ us _ .”

“Me too.”

Draco couldn’t keep Harry’s gaze. It was intense, so  _ so _ intense. And he would have to deal with it for the foreseeable future-the rest of his life, if it was his choice. The thought made his heart flutter.

“So,” Harry started, smirking “you’ve had racy thoughts about me? Tell me-” Harry stopped, head tilted, hand up to stop Draco from talking.

Draco too turned his head towards the door, the footsteps and hushed whispers now audible in the silence.

“The door’s still warded-are they even still in there?”

“Wait-” A pause “Does that mean that  _ Malfoy _ is still in there?”

The disgust in Weasley’s voice made Draco cringe-not that he could blame the other boy, but still. He felt a warm hand entwine with his own, Harry running his thumb along Draco’s skin. It was comforting and safe-two feelings Draco had no idea what to do with, so foreign and nearly incomprehensible, but oh so welcome.

Granger sounded exasperated as she responded “Probably, Ronald. I don’t get why it’s such an issue to you-”

“It  _ means _ he stayed the night, ‘Mione! Over _ night _ !”

“So?” Ginerva scoffed. “What’s it to you if he did?”

“Well, it’s just-” Weasley stuttered “What if it’s like when  _ we _ do it...Harry doesn’t even like boys!”

At that, Draco cast a sharp glance at Harry, the hand holding his squeezing gently, but didn’t meet his eyes.

“Says who?” Granger countered.

“Yea, Ronald, says who?” Ginerva chimed in. 

“Fine, but he doesn’t like Malfoy! Not like that, he just can’t.”

Another squeeze on his hand, but Draco barely felt it. He...this wasn’t right, was it? He hadn’t misheard...Harry had said he wanted Draco, had been the one to kiss _ him _ . But, he also hadn’t just misheard Weasley, now had he? Draco’s hands began to sweat, and he wanted to take his out of Harry's, as his stomach turned to knots.

He couldn’t, wouldn’t, look at Harry, even though he could feel that gaze, intense and bright, on him.

“Oh come off it, Harry’s been obsessed with that boy for the entire-”

“No, I don’t believe it. Harry wouldn’t-”

Whatever Weasley had been trying to say was drowned out by the sound of Harry getting off the bed, stomping to the door, and throwing it open, to the shock of everyone.

“Ron, I can, and I  _ do _ like Draco. Who, yes, is here. With me, and was all night. Now sod off, so I can get better acquainted with my new boyfriend, thanks.”

With that, Harry slammed the door, warding charms falling back into place, and moved back to the bed, face flushed.

“I’m sorry about Ron. He’ll...need time, to come round, to this. It’s not his fault, I-” a sigh “-well, I didn’t tell him that I liked blokes, I didn’t want him to get weirded out around me.”

“I see.” Draco responded, nodding. He understood Harry’s reasons, he really did. Pureblood families-no matter how open and progressive-all had ideas about LGBTQ. Not against it, exactly, but not always understanding. At least Harry hadn’t-wait.

Wait.

Draco blinked, before raising his eyes, expression guarded.

“Did you just tell them I was your boyfriend?”

“I-is that okay?” A pause “Sorry, I should have asked-I mean, I just assumed, and I shouldn’t have and-”

“No!” Draco blurted out. “I mean, yes, I.” Draco huffed, running his fingers through his hair. “It would have been nice to be asked, I suppose. No one has ever asked me to be their boyfriend…” Draco trailed off, voice low.

“But I’m...I’m okay, with us, and _ this _ , and...Yes.”

“Draco,” Harry reached forward, entwining both of their hands together, knees just brushing. “I would very much like the absolute privilege and honour of being your boyfriend, if you will allow it.”

Those goddamn butterflies nearly choked out Draco’s response, fluttering against his ribs, his throat, as he gently squeezed the warm hands within his own

“Well, I suppose. Since you asked so nicely.”

* * *

They spent almost the entirety of their weekend together, in Harry’s room. They called Kreacher when they wanted food, allowing him entry behind the strong wards. Both Hermione and Ron had come by, the former to make sure they were okay, the latter to apologize for his assumptions.

But they still didn’t leave.

Not until Sunday night, when Draco insisted he needed a real shower and his own clothes, and time without distractions to do his homework, particularly for the school week ahead. Under no uncertain terms was Draco going to classes in Harry’s Muggle clothing. 

It was a lonely night, without that warm presence. How one person could exude such warmth and comfort was beyond Draco, but he wanted to bask in that feeling forever. 

Okay, so Draco was completely in love, what of it? He knew it, Harry probably knew it, and that was that.

While Draco did manage to write his Potions essay, he was also distracted by thoughts of Harry. They had started off innocent enough-little daydreams about spending the holidays together, their first date, those kinds of things.

But then it turned significantly less innocent-the feeling of Harry’s lips against his own, tongue teasing, tasting, licking, the feel of teeth grazing his neck...delving lower…

Draco bit his lip. His essay was done, he had time, right? His heart began racing as he closed his eyes, fingers hot and teasing against his hips as he eased open his trousers, cock already fully hard in his pants, begging for attention.

Draco let his imagination run wild, already knowing the feel of Harry’s lips pressed against his, tongue hot and wet, sliding against his fevered skin; knew the feel as their hard lengths pressed together, heavy with want and need. Draco stroked himself, thumbing his slit, imagining Harry’s hands, warmer and thicker, against his length, breath hot against his skin...Draco stuck a finger in his mouth, tongue teasing, licking, covering the digit with saliva, soaking it, before delving between his legs, rubbing the slick finger against his entrance, slipping in and out, teasing, curling the finger in and up. Adding a second finger, imagining how Harry would do it, how Harry’s fingers, hot and thick, would feel inside him, skin slick and hot, kisses wet and open, breath coming in gasps, littered with moans…

One last pull, and Draco came, hot spurts against his stomach, a small moan erupting, unbidden, from his throat. He lay panting on his bed, as his heartbeat returned to normal, a small smile on his lips. 

Draco couldn’t wait to see if reality was as good as his imagination.

* * *

“Mr. Malfoy, Mr Potter. A word after class, if you please. In my office.” The Headmistresses voice was quiet, but sharp in their classroom. She nodded to Slughorn, and then turned around and walked out.

“Yes, well. Boys” Slughorn nodded to Draco, then to Harry, then continued on with the lesson.

Draco glanced over at Harry, seated near the other Gryffindors. They shared a confused look, and Harry looked away first, distracted by Hermione elbowing him back towards the lesson. 

Draco followed suit, tension and unease growing within his gut.

What in Merlin’s name could the Headmistress want with the both of them?

* * *

Draco had barely put his quill away when Harry was beside him, a gentle hand against his arm, the warmth seeping through Draco’s robes.

“Ready?”

“Just about” Draco replied, sliding the last of his notes into his bag, then slung it over his shoulder. “Ready to meet our doom??”

Harry laughed, grinning as he led the way to the Headmistresses office. “I doubt that. McGonagall isn’t like that.”

Draco raised a brow “He says of one of the most terrifying Professors in the whole school.”

“I’m serious!” Harry laughed “She’s actually quite caring and-”

Draco listened as Harry went on about his head of house, watching the animated way he spoke, the love and respect visible in his features, green eyes glowing with happiness. He was entranced with his boyfriend-good lord, his  _ boyfriend _ ! and barely paid any attention to their walk, vaguely surprised when they arrived at the statue.

“Pepper Imps” Harry said, watching at the statue turned, exposing the stairs. Harry tried to smile, but it was clear they were both nervous.

The Headmistress had barely spoken to Draco-except to welcome him back-and here she was, inviting him-and Harry. Together.

Did she know...they were...together? The thought had Draco worried. McGonagall was much like a parental figure for Harry, maybe she would forbid them being together. Maybe she would ban them from staying in each other’s rooms, maybe she-

“Oh, Shacklebolt, what’re you doing here?”

McGonagall cleared her throat “That’s Minister Shacklebolt, Mr. Potter. Please at least  _ attempt _ to be polite.”

Draco froze at the entrance, as Harry continued into the office. He hadn’t seen the Minister since his hearing, months past. Draco was filled with an acute discomfort, the familiar feelings of hopelessness and loss and complete and utter defeat filled his core, pressing against his throat, his ribs, nostalgic and painful.

“Sorry Professor” Harry responded, completely unaware that Draco hadn’t followed.

“Mr Potter, Mr. Malfoy” The Minister’s voice was quiet, warm, but distant. 

Draco couldn’t even force a smile, a return greeting. Was sure he looked like a deer in the headlights, as the panic crawled through his insides, ripping and tearing.

They had made a mistake.

They were going to send him back, send him to Azkaban, where he could rot with his father.

Where he would finally get the punishment he deserved, the kiss of worse-than-death.

It was finally going to happen.

The silence must have bleed from acceptable to uncomfortable, as three sets of eyes looked at Draco, two in concern, the other guarded.

“-Draco-?”

His eyes met those green depths, concerned and questioning, and Draco? Draco thought about how the dementors would feast on his memories of Harry, devour his feelings, the love that bloomed in his chest, warm and perfect, only to be ripped away, sucked out of him, leaving him cold and lifeless.

He couldn't help himself, couldn't stop the fear lacing his veins, sharp and biting.

Couldn't stop the words from tumbling out-

"-you can't send me back. "

"Mr Malfoy, please-"

"Don't send me back." Draco's voice sounded broken, even to himself. " _ Please _ "

“Mr Mal-”

“You aren’t taking him away, are you? Professor-”

“That’s not-”

“I won’t allow it-”

“Please, don’t take me-”

“-you  **can’t ** have him, I’ve lost so many already, and you’re not taking this away from me too.”

Harry’s voice rang in the room, the silence echoing against Draco’s heart.

“Harry-no one is here to take Mr. Malfoy away.”

Draco could see Harry’s fingers shaking, mirroring his own, tucked in his robe sleeves, as he turned towards the Minister. Harry could only glare, waiting for someone to explain what was going on.

The Headmistress sighed, gesturing to her sitting area. “Let’s all sit down at least.” 

Draco followed Harry, quietly, as the panic and fear and absolute terror gripped around his heart, his soul. He wanted to reach out, touch that warm hand, entwine their fingers together, and never let go.

But he didn’t. 

Once a coward, always a coward. That’s what his father taught him.

“I would like to reiterate that no one is going anywhere. Mr Malfoy,” the Minister turned towards Draco, “the sentence that was laid out at your trial stands as is. In that vein, however, I am here to discuss the community service requirements, as proposed by Mr Potter here.”

Draco blinked. He’d nearly forgotten all about the community service, still unsure of what, exactly, that entailed. Beside him, he felt Harry move, the air between them shifting as the other boy leaned forward.

“Did you-?”

Harry didn’t finish his sentence, as the Minister raised a hand. “Patience, Harry. Please.” He turned his gaze back to Draco, who still sat frozen. “Mr. Malfoy, as I was saying. We have elected to find a community service partner within the Ministry, with whom you can do your 200 hours. Starting after your NEWTs have been completed, we have arranged for you to work with Master Dayfyre-”

At this Draco gasped, eyes wide.

“-who has agreed to apprentice you, with the understanding that you will continue on after the 200 hours to complete the apprenticeship.”

“You-what?”

Draco blinked as his mind attempted to comprehend what the Minister was saying. An apprenticeship? With the world-renowned potions master? At the  _ Ministry _ ?

Harry chuckled beside him, a soft smile on his lips. “Was it hard to get her to agree to taking him on?”

The Minister shrugged “Not at all. Both Snape and Slughorn had already put in requests for apprenticeship with young Malfoy, so it was already in the pipeline.”

“-what?”

Shacklebolt shot a piercing look at Draco “I want this to be perfectly clear, Mr. Malfoy- during the time which you are apprenticing while completing your community service, you will not receive compensation of any kind. You will not be able to deviate from what Master Dayfyre requires from you, and you will be under Ministry watch.” a small smile appeared on his face “That said, we look forward to having someone as talented and gifted as you developing the field of Potions making. You come highly recommended, not just by your professors, but by Mr. Potter and the Headmistress as well.”

A soft brush of skin against his hand brought Draco back to the present, and out of his head, the thoughts spinning wildly around and around. He glanced at Harry, who was giving him a soft look.

Draco returned the smile, careful and guarded, but still a smile.

“I appreciate the opportunity that has been given to me. Not only to repent for the sins I committed-”

“Was forced to commit.” Harry interrupted.

“-and to be offered the chance to apprentice with one of the wizarding world's best potions masters. I only hope that I do not disappoint all those who, despite the odds, have faith in me.”

McGonagall cleared her throat “Despite a few bumps, you have proven to be intelligent, resourceful, and quite determined to do well. I have no doubt that you will succeed in this apprenticeship.”

“Well said, headmistress. Now, Mr. Malfoy, I’ll be sending an owl closer to your apprenticeship start with instructions.” the Minister turned away from Draco, and looked to Harry “If you don’t mind, I’d like a word with Mr Potter in private please.”

“Yes, of course.” Draco responded, standing clumsily. “Thank you for coming to tell me this in person, I appreciate it.” Draco bowed, and then stood up to leave, but was stopped by a quick hand reaching out to him.

“Meet me for dinner?”

A quick grin “Of course.”

With that, Draco turned and left the office.


	14. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, that's all folks.
> 
> Will there be a Full Smut addition to this fic? Maybe. I just don't have it in me right now, sorry lads.

“-so, Shacklebolt just wanted to see what you wanted to do? And did he propose anything?”

“Not really, honestly. I mean, he hinted at being an Auror, of course, but I turned that down.” Harry responded.

They had just finished dinner, and were walking to Draco’s room, talking about the rest of Harry’s meeting with the Headmistress and Minister.

“I told him I wanted to open a shop or something, and he seemed interested, I suppose.” Harry shrugged, waiting as Draco opened the Slytherin portrait.

They both ignored the stares and looks as they walked to Draco’s room. The nice thing about being an outcast in his own house was that no one seemed keen to pry into Draco’s business.

Didn’t mean they wouldn’t talk about it, but what could you do?

“So this is your room” Harry said, looking around as Draco closed and warded his room. 

“Not quite as homey as yours, granted, but I like it well enough.” Draco responded, shucking off his robes and bag, heading to sit on the edge of his bed.

Harry nodded, walking around the small room, similar to Harry’s, but green and silvers, peering at the small knick knacks Draco had brought with him-a framed photo of him and his mother, several peacock feathers, his Prefect badge.

“You know” Harry said, sliding a finger along the fringe of a feather “I was almost in Slytherin. I wonder how different things would have been…”

Harry Potter? Savior of the Wizarding World? In Slytherin??? If Draco had been holding anything, he would have dropped it.

“The savior? In Slytherin house? Oh, how I would have liked to see that.” Draco scoffed, then continued, slower. “Actually...no, I think not. While things would surely have been different, I don’t believe they would have been better.”

With one last glance around the room, Harry moved towards the bed, slotting himself between Draco’s legs, hands moving up Draco’s thighs, warm and gentle, coming to rest just below Draco's hips.

“I think things are near perfect as they are.” Harry said, leaning in, eyes glancing towards Draco’s lips.

“Oh yes?”

Harry hummed, a breath away from Draco, the heat between them sending a shiver through Draco. “I do.” 

Their lips met, gentle but firm, Draco’s fingers twining in those dark locks, wanting to be closer, impossibly closer, his own lips opening, breathing in Harry, wanting, craving.

Small gasps and moans, as Harry licked into Draco’s mouth, tongue hot and wet and oh  _ so _ slick. Draco felt himself pushed back on the bed-or did he pull Harry on top? It didn’t matter, as long as he felt the weight of Harry against him, the weight of being pushed down, firm muscles pressing against his own. Their quickly stiffening lengths pressing together, as Draco pressed his teeth into the softness of Harry’s lip, swallowing the moan, the breath it brought.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Draco felt the shock of skin against his own fingers as they trailed up strong back muscles, pushing into trouser bands, nearly ripping the zip to get closer to Harry, pulling closer, always closer. Breathing in the sweet scent of skin, consuming the salty sweat in that beautiful juncture between neck and shoulder, tongue grazing a delicate collar bone.

Draco wanted more, always more. Hands against his chest, startling with their nakedness, skin against skin, as Harry’s fingers, then mouth, encircled a nipple, Draco’s hips thrusting up, seeking friction, seeking their pleasure.

But then Harry froze, fingers no longer seeking, lips in a frown against his chest.

“I...did this to you…” the words were whispered, pained, against Draco’s chest, Harry’s entire body tense, rigid. 

“-what?” Draco looked down, as Harry looked up, pain and anguish evident, even in the dim firelight.

Harry moved his fingers again, against the raised scars crisscrossing the pale skin, white against that paleness. 

“Oh.” Draco sighed. He should have expected this, really. Should have-well.

“How can you let me touch you...after what I’ve done?” Harry sounded broken, so so broken, as his fingers gently traced the scars, soft and gentle.

Draco snorted “I could ask the same of you.” 

He slowly sat up, disentangling his limbs, as his heartbeat slowed down. His hand reached out to cup Harry’s cheek, thumb grazing the still-slick skin. They locked eyes, green and grey, spring and winter.

“Look, Harry, I’m...not mad about what happened, back there...with that” he gestured towards the scars, “I mean, I was at the time, but Snape did tell me about how distraught you were, afterwards, and I truly don’t believe you meant to hurt me. Not like this.”

He paused, a deep breath in. And out.

“Plus, we all have scars. We lived through a war, Harry. A fucking  _ war _ . And we survived. For that, a scar is a small price to pay.”

Harry blinked, before his face broke out into a soft smile. “We did survive. And get to do this-” a warm hand covered Draco’s where it still lay on Harry’s cheek “-and that is amazing.”

Draco returned that smile, the warmth of his hand between Harry a comfort, a lifeline. A support that Draco hadn’t known he’d needed, but cherished with every fiber of his being.

Before Draco could get too sappy and emotional, Harry leaned forward again, capturing Draco’s lips with his own, soft and supple, gentle but insistent. 

Draco barely noticed as they fell back to the bed, his tongue exploring the hot wetness of Harry’s, dancing and entwining together. Hands burned against Draco’s chill chest, stomach, his neck, as his own delved into the hard plains of muscle and flesh. 

Lightheaded, and dizzy, breaths coming in pants, and moans, as small gasps filled the room, and Draco moved his own hands downward, feeling the firmness of muscle beneath his fingers, first the chest, then stomach, following the delicious V of Harry’s hips towards what he wanted most. Draco slipped his fingers beneath loose fabric, cupping the soft swell of Harry’s ass, kneading the skin, as his own hips rocked forward, searching for friction, for release, for that feeling of being fully connected to the one person who  _ saw _ him. 

A small shift of his body, and Draco found he could move his hands again, move them towards Harry, who was marking Draco’s neck, bruising with teeth and tongues, claiming Draco. Draco moved his hands, fingers reaching out, gentle, searching, feeling the soft hardness, thick and twitching beneath his fingers.

“Fuckkk….Draco….please...more-”

Draco needed to see it, to touch it more. To lick and-

Consume. Be consumed. Draco needed to be closer, needed to feel Harry on him, inside of him. Needed to feel himself claimed, feel like he belonged to someone. Finally.

“Please, can we-?”

Harry paused long enough to pull back and look at Draco, eyes hazy, lust filled, but quizzical. “-What?”

Draco chewed his lip, as he searched those green depths “I want...I want you inside me.”

Harry blinked in confusion “I-” then “-Oh! Draco are...are you sure? I don’t know... and haven’t and-”

“I haven’t either, but” Draco paused, considering his words. “I want to belong...to you...and…” Draco trailed off, his face burning, eyes sliding away from Harry.

“Hey, no, wait, Draco-” A pair of fingers cupped Draco’s cheek, bringing their faces together, Harry’s lips dropping soft kisses against Draco. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to. I do. I also want you and me...I want us to be forever. And that...I think that means maybe not having all our firsts together in the first week, okay?”

Draco could only nod as the word  _ Forever _ echoed in his mind, chest so full of heat he could burn from the inside.

Harry’s smile was blinding, then turned this side of feral, as he captured Draco’s lips between his teeth, nibbling, biting, licking.

Hands moved down Draco’s torso, burning a trail across his skin, gasping as fingers fumbled with his button and zip, working to free Draco.

Harry swallowed Draco’s moan as their lengths came together, guided by Harry, who gripped them and began stroking, slowly speeding up as Draco came undone. Draco couldn’t keep the moans falling from his mouth, even if he’d tried, the exquisite pleasure too much, but not enough. His own hands were pressing, grasping, exploring the hot skin against his, mouth and tongue licking and kissing every inch of Harry he could reach, teeth grazing the flesh as he sought to consume, and be devoured.

“Draco, I’m-”

Harry didn’t finish what he was going to say, as Draco crashed their lips together, licking into that hot mouth, swallowing the sounds of pleasure as Harry came, hot spurts against Draco’s stomach, Draco’s own following only moments after.

Harry moved to the side before collapsing, half on Draco, half on the bed, arm wrapped around Draco. Slowly, they relearned how to breathe, as Draco lazily played with Harry’s fingers splayed across his chest, across his pale scars.

With a soft kiss to Draco’s shoulder, Harry sat up and cast cleaning charms on them both, pulling the blankets up and around their nude bodies, and wrapping his own around Draco.

“You’re….okay with forever...with me?” That word had echoed in Draco’s mind, his heart, once they had finished. It was that feeling he had had, before, that feeling of something missing. Draco wanted to be someone’s forever, wanted someone to accept his broken heart and soul. And wanted to be that for someone else. Be that for Harry.

The arm around Draco tightening, pulling them closer, a brief touch of lips against his shoulder.

“Draco, I love you. More than I thought possible. I-” Harry paused, fingers caressing Draco, as he considered. “I can’t imagine my life without you because without you, it's empty.”

Draco would later deny the single wet tear that fell from his eye as, voice choked, he responded “I love you too, you prat.”

  
  



End file.
